Bed of Dead Roses
by Blood Diamond13
Summary: She's baaack. Ophelia has not spoken to Morticia in twenty years, since she betrayed her in a brutal way when Morticia was eighteen. Now, Ophelia calls and claims their deceased father, has a long lost present for her, but Morticia must visit to retrieve it. Little does she know, she is walking into a trap. And Ophelia is about to reset the clock, and jepordize the entire family.
1. eSTRANGEd

_**A sequel, of sorts, to In Love & Passion:**_

Gomez sat in the den, waiting for the arrival of his lawyer of nine years, Tully and Tully's wife, Margaret.

He missed his querida terribly, with all his being. He longed for her since the day she left, and today, she was coming home.

He looked his very best for her today. His cologne mixed with the fact that he had showered just this morning gave off a strong, sexy scent. His black hair was slicked back, as usual and he had polished his gold wedding ring with his nickname, _Mon Amour_ , engraved on the inside. He wore black pants with a black dress shirt. Over the shirt, was a suit-vest that was black with blood-coloured, gothic designs. The red reminded him of the way his darling one's nails would scratch across his washboard-like stomach and chest, full of muscle and years of dueling and physical activity. His dress shoes and socks were black, as well. Gomez's mustache, that was more like two alluring lines across his face, completed his aesthetic. Today, he embodied the French nickname Morticia would call him, _mon diable_ , meaning _my devil_.

Gomez leaned against the mantle, and smoked his expensive, hundred-dollar cigar.

Thing, the disembodied hand that had full capability of human emotion and senses, hopped from the mantle and onto Gomez's shoulder.

Gomez looked at Thing, and smiled. "Think of it, Thing." Gomez spoke with a Spanish-Italian, perfectly accented voice that could arouse the dead. "It feels like an eternity, I have been away from my Tish. And finally, she is coming home."

Thing patted Gomez on the shoulder.

"Thank you, old man." Gomez paused, and took a puff of his cigar.

"Has Tully arrived yet?"

Thing gave a thumb down.

Gomez nodded. "Thank you, Thing."

Thing gave a thumb up and hopped off of Gomez.

Gomez sighed, and waited.

Tully, the Addams' lawyer, walked toward the entrance of the Addams' mansion once again, with Margaret. They were collecting the donation for this year's charity auction, and the monthly expenses.

Tully was a man of average height. He was not a large man, but he was indeed... puffy. His facial features were more than likely handsome at one point. But, the years had not been kind to him, nor had he been very kind to himself. His dark eyes looked like they had witnessed a war, and his long, black hair already had a few greys, at forty. Gomez was thirty-seven and had not one. His suits were old, cheap and torn, from the brutal years of being Gomez's lawyer. Mr. Addams was not unkind to him, but he was an eccentric, active man and Tully was the complete opposite. Boring, passionless, and as Margaret put it, a bum. He would like to say he tried to be better for his wife and child, but he had not tried at all since 1974.

He wrestled with gate, a gate with pet-like senses that often grabbed at his coat, like a child, begging for attention. Like his child used to do, until he gave up.

"Stop it!" He yelled. "I'm warning you!"

Margaret rolled her eyes and marched over to Tully.

She was a woman of broken elegance. She had a rectangular figure, and she tried to be classy but she was jaded from her passionless marriage, and flustered from their financial situation, or their mockery of a financial situation. Thirty-seven-year-old Margaret's red hair was always in a big up-do. She tried to keep up with the latest fashions, but she was too tired and half-assed her way through all of them. She was the queen of miserable, tired housewife hacks. She wore a pastel pink pencil skirt and a white blouse with a blazer to match her skirt. The blazer had a thin, white lining. Her nails were painted white, and she wore tan pantyhose that had a large run at the top, where nobody could see. She wore these with white, short heels. She painted over the wear and tear with her nail polish. Her wedding ring's gleam had quite literally worn off, and the small, cheap, golden band just sat on her finger... a reminder of the worst best day of her life.

 _"Would you straighten up?"_ She asked. " _Please_ , these are one of five, of your _last. Paying. Clients._ "

" _Must_ you remind me?" Tully half-listened to the woman as he struggled against the gate's hold on him.

 _"Yes."_ Margaret grabbed him and pulled, trying to get him away from gate. "But, sometimes I wonder..." She yanked again, groaning. "Why bother?"

"Right! I never listen to you, anyway!" Tully rolled his eyes.

"God, why-" After another yank, gate released them and set the couple propelling backward.

Margaret's white, old purse flew out of her hand and Tully rammed into her.

Margaret got on the ground and picked up her purse. She straightened up and walked after Tully, whom was already halfway to the door.

 _"_ ** _Why_** _did I marry you?"_ Margaret scoffed.

"We have been over this _one hundred times_ , Margaret. I'm gonna give the same damn answer."

"Because you said _yes_?" Margaret asked. "You haven't said _yes_ in eleven years! All I wanted for Christmas was a new car because ours had squirrels in it but no-"

 _"_ ** _Yes!_** _There! Does that make you happy?"_

" _Something_ has to!" Margaret shot at him. "Like a decent coat."

Tully rolled his eyes and made a mocking puppet hand motion as his wife talked.

"Something dressy, for evening..." Her voice trailed off as she realized nobody was listening to her, but her.

Meanwhile, Gomez heard Lurch get the door and watched as Tully and Margaret walked into the den.

Gomez looked up, and took the cigar out of his mouth. "Tully, Margaret! What a pleasure it is to see you both again."

He shook Tully's hand and kissed Margaret's, and the pair sat on the couch.

Gomez spoke when they didn't. "I should apologize for the unusual meeting arrangements. Morticia and I have decided to have the office redone. Besides which, I cannot bare to be very far away from that door right now."

Neither of them asked why.

"It's quite alright, Gomez." Tully waved his hand.

Gomez nodded. "Cigar, Tully? Margaret?"

They shook their heads.

Gomez shrugged and sat on the couch across from them. "Morticia should be in any minute. She has been gone for so long, it's been agony. A friend in Denver needed help moving somebody."

Margaret gulped. _"What?"_

"Poor Ruby's second cousin passed on." He explained.

Margaret shook her head, then made the connection. "I... I see, I..." She looked around. "Excuse me."

She shot up but Tully grabbed her and forcefully sat her back in the chair.

Gomez would not be walking on two legs if he grabbed Morticia like that. Then again, he wouldn't anyway.

Tully looked at Gomez, I can explain this written all over his face. "She gets jumpy."

Margaret nodded. "Yes, Gomez, I... I'm sorry."

Gomez nodded. "It's quite alright, Margaret. Tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

Gomez took the pocket-sized gong off of the coffee table and rang for Lurch.

Lurch came in, four cups of tea and a teapot on a tray.

Margaret was afraid that she would be the next body they had to move at this point.

Lurch set the tea down on the table and looked at Margaret. "Cream, sugar, arsenic, or cyan-"

"C-cream, please, thank you." Margaret watched Lurch put cream, sugar, arsenic, belladonna and cyanide neatly on the table, and then pour the cream into her tea.

"Thank you, Lurch." Gomez said. "You may go."

Lurch left, groaning and Gomez noticed their car pull into the driveway. Máma had agreed to drive Morticia home.

Gomez leapt up from his seat, and sprinted to the door.

Margaret and Tully shared a look of confusion.

Gomez looked back at them, briefly. "She's home!" He called, enthusiastically.

Gomez watched as lighting cracked across the sky.

All of the sudden, thunder sounded.

It began to pour and Morticia put her cloak on. She walked out into the rain, and the sky appeared purple. She looked as though she were a witch-like apparition, taming the rain and wind that was not so much as disheveling her slightly.

Morticia walked up to the door of the mansion and before she could even ring, Gomez opened it.

The gothic enchantress was breathtaking. She was five foot nine, with legs that stretched on for miles. Her figure was glorious. Even after two kids, her measurements were 37"-23"-37". Her skin was paler than that of the corpse she had recently seen. Her eyes were of a dark brown shade, and her long, silky hair was as black as the night she and her husband both adored. Her dark, gothic smoky eyes went beautifully with her lips and nails, that were painted the same shade as the designs on her husband's vest. She wore a long, black, gothic gown that swept the floor. It was tight, and low-cut, accentuating her curves. It has fishnet cut-outs in the long sleeves, and lace-up shoulders. It had an elegant chain above her hips. She wore it to parties quite a lot, and she wore it today. Morticia's shoes were three-and-a-half inches, and black, gothic heels. They had silver crosses dangling off of the back by spiked chains. She wanted to look her best for her husband that she hadn't seen in what they both considered far, far too long.

Morticia barely had time to close the door before Gomez scooped her up in his arms.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Gomez gripped her waist, squeezing the hell out of her but neither caring at all.

Morticia cupped his cheeks. "I've missed you, mon amour."

God, Gomez adored the sound of her voice. It was like that of a mysterious, seductive, black angel.

"And I you, cara mia." He captured her lips and tongue for a passionate kiss, and set her down, not letting go of her.

Margaret and Tully grew increasingly uncomfortable as Gomez unfastened her cloak and it was discarded on the floor.

"Mmm... it felt like years, _miserable, passionless, painless_ years." Morticia said between breaths and affectionate kisses.

 _"Never again will you do that to me."_ Gomez drew her closer and pinned her against the wall near the door, her wrists above her head in his firm grasp. He looked her in her eyes, a feral passion, burning in his own.

Morticia sighed, in ecstasy. How she missed him. "I promise."

Gomez breathed a sigh of passion and relief. _"Eres divina..."_ He groaned and began to kiss her neck.

 _"Mon sauvage..."_ She moaned, relishing in his kisses and adoration.

"Oh, Tish, you've the complexion of an apparition." He kissed her down to her partially exposed cleavage.

"And you have the lips of an angelic demon that I am happy to be enraptured by." She replied, breathless.

Máma walked in and rolled her eyes. "I'm goin' upstairs!" She told everyone and walked away.

The couple noticed her, not.

 _"Kiss me."_ Morticia commanded.

They grabbed onto each other, and Gomez immediately made out with her. His tongue tangoed with hers, and his hands moved, sensually across her body.

"I didn't know what to do with myself, Tish. It was miserable, in that bed, being unable to hold you like always."

"Oh, darling, I was so cold. I didn't have the heat of your body or those..." She ran her icy hands across his perfect arms, full of muscle. " _Strong arms_ wrapped around me. Mon diable, I was so lonely."

"I am so sorry, querida. All alone. In _Denver_ , of all places..." He kissed her.

"Just hold me and don't _ever, ever l_ et me go." Morticia's long, red nails dug into his skin.

He squeezed her waist, and bent her back, devouring her.

Margaret did not know whether to fume with jealousy or avert her eyes. This was more intense than anything she had seen in the pornos she watched behind her stiff husband's back. She decided to do both.

Tully, disturbed and sickened, cleared his throat.

Morticia's eyes shifted toward the noise, and she noticed the couple that Gomez had forgotten about.

Morticia played with his tie and looked, briefly at her gorgeous wedding ring. It was eleven million dollars of pure silver, and had her nickname, _Cara Mia_ engraved in black on the inside, like her husband's. "Darling, we have company."

"Hmm?" He asked, enthralled with his gothic bride.

She laughed. "Tully and Margaret. The monthly expenses are due. Remember, mon cher?"

"I can't remember anything except how much I missed you terribly." He kissed her. "And how happy I am that your back."

"I've missed you too, mon amour." Arms around his neck, she leaned in and whispered. "Gomez, I'll let you punish me for leaving later."

"Only if I can fuck you so hard, we break the bedpost." He replied.

"Only if you take me to the dungeon tonight."

Gomez squeezed her ass. "Well, I suppose we'll pick this up in two hours?"

"I suppose we will." Morticia's voice had a slow, seductive edge. "You know how rough I like to play."

Gomez nipped the air and Morticia bit right back. Then, arm in arm, they walked back to the couch and Gomez sat down. He reached out his arms and Morticia sat in his lap.

Tully rolled his eyes. "Are you ready to talk, Mr. Addams?" He asked, impatiently.

Gomez had his arms around Morticia's waist, embracing her from behind. "Yes." Quickly, he kissed her. Gomez then turned to Tully. "Forgive me, she was gone for so long."

"Yes, we just can't bear to be separated like that." Morticia explained.

Tully nodded, and pretended to understand.

Margaret rolled her eyes at this, but said nothing. "How long was she away?" She asked.

"Oh," The couple looked at each other, like it was too painful to talk about.

"An entire, _miserable, passionless, painless..._ " Morticia closed her eyes.

Gomez finished and squeezed her. _"Day."_

Margaret and Tully shared a look of confusion.

"A whole day?" Tully gasped, sarcastically.

Morticia nodded. "Yes. It was terrible." She placed her hands atop her husband's and he did one of the things she liked best, moving them back and forth. She felt her muscles tighten.

Margaret was in envious disbelief. "Well, Morticia..." She cleared her throat. "I'm here to speak to you about the charity auction."

Morticia nodded. "Of course, Margaret. I happen to have our donation with me. Allow me to-" she was going to get up, but Gomez held her tightly, refusing to allow her to do so. Morticia smiled at how passionately possessive he was being. Still, she tried. "Allow me to-" She could not even get an inch off of her seat. She leaned back.

Gomez kissed her neck. "I find it adorable how you think you're going anywhere." He said to her and stroked her hair.

"I find it adorable that you think you can stop me." She replied, toying with his emotions.

Margaret gulped and tried to look anywhere but directly in front of her.

"I don't think, I know." Gomez responded. "I hope you realize that you will not be alone for a long, long time."

"I'm looking forward to it." Morticia turned her head and he kissed her again.

Tully was just uncomfortable. Morticia was quite the seductress and sometimes _he_ could not even help but stare at her.

Gomez had Thing ring for Lurch, as he could not keep his eyes or his hands off of his darling one.

"Lurch, would you please fetch the donation for the charity auction?"

Lurch nodded and walked away, not even needing to hear where it was located. He would find it.

Gomez's lips captured Morticia's hand.

Tully spoke, breaking the awkwardness between his wife and he for the time being. "So, Morticia? How was Denver?"

"Oh, dreadful without Gomez with me. And, before you ask, not the good kind."

Weirded out but unsurprised, Tully said nothing. He just smiled and nodded.

"However, Ruby was delighted I could come. Her second cousin weighed three hundred pounds. Transporting him to a body bag, then to the morgue is not an easy job." Morticia said, matter-of-factly.

Margaret was repulsed at the grim statement. "Well, that's..." She gulped. "Morose."

 _"Isn't it?"_ Morticia nodded, in agreement.

 _"Three hundred pounds?_ " Gomez sighed. "Tish, you must be exhausted."

"Well, Ruby is almost destitute and refuses charity. We had to move him ourselves, she couldn't afford movers." Morticia paused. "Besides, for some odd reason, they wouldn't do it."

Tully scoffed. "Gee, wonder why?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"So did we. We think it has something to do with her being suspect in the poisoning." Morticia shook her head, sadly. "What has this world come to?"

"Sore, cara mia?" Gomez asked. He cracked his knuckles.

Morticia knew exactly what that sound meant. "Terribly." Her tone was seductive.

Gomez began to rub her shoulders.

"Thank you, mon cher." She kissed him. "I've missed you." Morticia sipped her tea and got comfortable as he continued.

Margaret wanted so badly to roll her eyes, but before she could speak, Lurch handed the ruby encrusted, 4.5-million-dollar necklace for the auction to her.

He groaned, then, and walked away.

Margaret was speechless. "Is this for the auction?"

Margaret and Tully winced as Morticia moaned at her husband's touch.

"Yes, dear. I heard that they were donating to widows and orphans this year." Morticia sipped her tea. "We need more of them."

"Uh-huh." Margaret nodded, trying to convince herself everything was normal. She examined the necklace and showed it to Tully. Now, he paid attention to her.

"It's absolutely extravagant. Wherever did you get it?" Margaret inquired.

"Oh, Gomez and I found it while staying at _Le Rubis Noi_ r, in Paris." Morticia explained. "We bought it for the auction."

Gomez planted a kiss on her neck. "Tish, that French." He looked at a stunned Tully and Margaret. "Yes, it was like Morticia to think of others when she saw it." He gave her shoulders another good squeeze and wrapped his hands back around her waist.

"Merci, mon amour." She smiled.

"Must you?" Gomez devoured her fingers.

 _"Always."_ Morticia captured her husband's lips, and Tully had just about had enough.

"Gomez, monthly expenses. Not to rush but I have... a lunch to go to."

Margaret looked shocked. "You're taking me to lunch?"

Tully laughed, nervously. "Hey, pumpkin, why don't you wait in the car with that pretty necklace? I won't take too long."

Margaret humphed. _"Fine."_ She got up and shook Morticia's hand. "Thank you again, Morticia. It's beautiful." Margaret then walked out of the house.

Gomez was going to get up, but Lurch walked over to him with the phone.

"Lurch, old man, this isn't exactly a good time." Gomez sighed. "Who is it?"

Lurch shook his head, and groaned. "Telephone call for Mrs. Addams."

Morticia gracefully took the phone from Lurch. "Thank you, Lurch." She nodded. "Hello, Mrs. Addams speaking."

"Morticia?" That voice, she recognized it. It was too... not perky but... snooty.

"Pardon me, who-" It then dawned on her and she stood up, upset but maintaining her composure.

Gomez looked up and watched his wife's eyes enlarge.

 _"Ophelia?"_

Gomez was fuming but Morticia held up a hand, and he stayed put.

"Yes, dear sister, it's me." Ophelia replied. "I have news for you."

Morticia had not seen nor spoken to her since Ophelia tried to ruin her life, and kill her nearly twenty years ago.

"Ophelia, unless you are terminally ill, I don't want to hear it." Ophelia was dead to her, Morticia wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

But, fate, could not allow that.

"My, my... we _are_ rude." Ophelia sighed. "I just wanted to check up on you. It isn't like you to hold a grudge."

"It isn't like you to care about me." Morticia was not about to play this game.

Tully looked up, confused.

Gomez flashed him a look that commanded he stay put and wait.

"You're right. And maybe I don't. But, father did."

Morticia did not want to, in fact she vomited at the sight of it, but she took the bait. "What about my father?" Morticia asked. She did not even want to remember that her father was also Ophelia's father, and she had a good feeling that he wouldn't want to, either.

" _Our_ father," Ophelia corrected. "Had a weird little trinket that he wanted you to have. I have no use for it, so I need you to come to Fareigndale so I can give it to you."

Morticia shook her head. "You're expecting me to believe that you are just finding this, now?"

Ophelia sighed. "Yes, I am. And I can't send it. I don't want to spend money mailing this thing to you."

"I see we're going for brutal honesty?" Morticia asked.

"Somewhat." Ophelia replied.

Morticia sighed. "Ophelia, you would never care if I had this unless something was in it for you. What do you want?"

"Well, just a small sum of cash. $5,000 seems fair."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Why on earth do you deserve any portion of my money?"

Gomez was about to stand but Morticia held up her hand again. He kissed it.

"Because, then you can have this box. That's what it is. It's some old, wooden box that has _To Morticia, Love Father_ engraved in it on top. It comes with a key."

"Well, what's in it?"

"I don't know, it isn't like you consume my thoughts. All I did was find it and use it as leverage to call you."

Morticia shook her head. "Ophelia, are you really suggesting we come up to Fareigndale?"

Gomez's eyes now enlarged and he looked at Morticia, shaking his head, _no_.

"Yes, only for the day. If you must bring everybody else, by all means, go right ahead."

"Ophelia, it is the sunniest part of California. It's hot, and you know my photosensitivity acts up."

 _"Boo-hoo."_ Ophelia had no sympathy. "Lather on the sunscreen, then, Morticia. I don't want to be a bitch, -"

Morticia rolled her eyes. "It's a bit _late_ for that, dear."

 _"But,"_ Ophelia continued. "You won't get this thing until you walk up to my door and get it yourself."

"I cannot give you a definite answer. Gomez and I have to talk about this."

Ophelia scoffed. "No you don't. He does whatever you want anyways."

"No, Ophelia. I will call you back by the end of the night." Morticia hung up.

Ophelia scoffed, and slammed the white phone on her small, pink wooden nightstand.

Gomez looked at his darling one with concerned eyes. _"Tish, why did that wretch call you?"_

"She... my father, left something for me. A box. He wanted me to have it, before he died. Ophelia found it."

"I don't believe her." Gomez stood. "Why would she just be calling you _now_? He has been gone more than twenty years."

"I know." Morticia nodded. "I know. But what if she does have it?" She looked at Gomez, with a wounded look in her black eyes. "All I had left of him was a pair of shoes, a picture, and Kitty. It's one more thing I would have to remember him by."

Gomez hesitated but held her from behind, comfortingly. "I understand, my darling. I do. But we cannot just fly out to Fareigndale. I will pay her any sum of money but I do not trust her enough to come and see her. After what Ophelia did to you... she doesn't deserve to see you, or know our children."

"Who's Ophelia?" Tully had awkwardly been listening for quite some time now.

Gomez and Morticia turned toward him. They had both forgotten he was even there.

"My older sister." Morticia said. "She tried steal Gomez away from me and tried to have me jailed when she found out we were in love. It's quite a wild story, really."

Gomez shook his head and took some of Morticia's hair, gently in his hand. He looked at Tully, with vehement rage directed at Ophelia in his eyes, and she was not even here. "She tried to kill her before having her arrested."

Tully gulped. "What an interesting family you people have."

 _"That woman is_ ** _not_** _family."_ Gomez spit fire.

Morticia shook her head and pressed into him. She sighed, conflicted.

There was a long, two-minute break of silence.

Tully then spokes. "Perhaps we should reschedule, Gomez."

Gomez nodded and held his wife, close. "Yes, Tully. I believe that would be best."

"I apologize for all of this." Morticia said. "If I had known she would call us, I would have gotten rid of the phone."

Tully nodded, though upset. "It's alright. I'll just... go to the car. Good luck with everything." He then grabbed his briefcase, and walked out of the house, back to the old, tired grind.

Morticia figured Tully meant well by his odd statement. She sighed, then, after having been deep in thought. "We have to do this, Gomez."

Gomez looked into her eyes. "Tish... please, there has to be another way."

Morticia closed her eyes, in thought. "Ophelia said I was not going to receive that box unless I came over, with around five thousand dollars. I do not want to put the children in harm's way, however. Not like this." Morticia said. "The children shouldn't go, I don't want to put them in danger." She paused. "Come with me?"

Gomez sighed and ran his fingers through her hair. "Querida, I will not let you go alone. But I am still not convinced that we should go at all."

"I know, mon cher. But this is my father. What if they found a lead on Fester, hmm? Or simply something he desperately wanted you to have?" Gomez's dark goddess asked him.

"I'd go to the ends of the earth to get it." Gomez said, through gritted teeth.

Morticia stroked his cheek, briefly. "And all I have to do is go to California."

 _"Oh, is that all?"_ Gomez asked, sarcastically.

"Yes. That's all." Morticia nodded, definitively.

 _"Morticia..."_ Gomez drew out her name, and his tone had a concerned edge.

Morticia looked into his eyes, sadly.

"Tish, _really_. I..."

She looked down for a moment, then back at her husband.

Gomez bit his lip. _"Cara mia..."_

Morticia looked away a bit longer, shrinking.

Gomez sighed, turned his head. _"Lurch, please book a flight to Fareigndale, California!"_ He called.

Morticia's face lit up and she turned to her husband, kissing him. "Thank you, mon amour."

Gomez traced her lip with his finger. "How can I ever say _no_ to you?"

"You can't." Morticia sighed, happily and leaned against his chest. She then grew serious once more. "Darling, I hope you know how much this means to me, really. I know what a big risk it is and at the first sign of trouble, we'll leave."

Gomez rubbed her back. "We like trouble."

"Not _that_ kind of trouble."

A devious smile played on Gomez's lips. "Well, then..." He let his fingers trace down to her rear end and grabbed it. He pressed into her and sucked her neck. "How about _this_ kind of trouble?"

Morticia moaned. "I like this kind of trouble."

"Speaking of trouble..." Gomez picked her up. "Guess what you're in?"

Morticia kissed him, roughly, and blood was drawn. _"Punish me."_


	2. Nothing Like Us

Morticia called an anxious Ophelia that night with the answer she was hoping for.

They were coming. But, just her and Gomez, she did not trust her around the children that Ophelia did not even know they had had.

The next morning, September 10th, however... plans changed.

Gomez and Morticia walked downstairs for lunch, after having skipped breakfast, as they had only been hungry for each other. The lovers watched as a writhing and reeling Máma vomited into a bucket from the couch, half listening to the what was playing on the television. It was her favourite program, _Horrour Gore, A Comedy._

"Máma, what's the matter?" Morticia had asked.

"Nothing!" Máma upchucked once more.

Morticia grew concerned. "Máma, I'm serious. Are you ill?"

"No, I'm jazzercising!" Esmeralda replied, sarcastically.

Morticia sighed. "You're obviously suffering from some sort of ailment. And sadly, it isn't a good one." She paused. "It's the flu, isn't it?"

Máma nodded. "Yes, Morticia. And you've obviously graduated Harvard with a medical degree." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, dear. I get punchy when I'm sick."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Please, Máma. You get punchy when we're out of cyanide."

Máma scoffed. "I'd say I resent that, but I can't. It's true. And who wouldn't? Who in the hell eats my specialty without cyanide?"

Gomez nodded, in agreement. "Well, we could perhaps not get angry and throw the empty bottle at Lurch's head next time, hmm?"

Esmeralda vomited again, then spoke, annoyed. "Relax, General Addams, I didn't break the bottle."

Gomez saluted her. He chuckled, and smoked his cigar. "Alright, Máma."

Máma looked at the pair, then, sympathy and a bit of guilt in her eyes. "I shoulda never eaten that stale bat's wing last night. I'm sorry, but there is no way that I can sit for the children when I can't even sit myself."

The lovers nodded, in agreement.

"I know, Máma. Get some rest." After her mother's eyes closed, Morticia looked at her husband, alarmed. "Gomez?"

Gomez held her a bit tighter and looked into her beautiful, worried eyes. "Don't worry, cara mia. We will figure this out."

Now, an hour later, Morticia was regrettably helping Pugsley pack his bags, while Gomez helped Wednesday in the room across the hall.

"Why are we visiting her?" A confused, eight-year-old Pugsley questioned.

Pugsley was of average height for a boy his age, and bared a strong resemblance to his uncle, Fester, whom he never knew. His skin was pale, although not nearly as ghostly white as his mother's. His eyes were big and medium brown, while his hair was light brown and spiked in the front. Pugsley was not fat, but was a chubby boy. He always wore black pants or shorts, black or brown lace-up boots, black or white socks and black and white or black and grey, striped shirts. Today, he wore shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, with brown boots.

Morticia looked around her son's bedroom. It was not large in size, but it was average. The wooden floor was light brown, and the walls were greyish-brown with depressing images of sharks ready to consume smaller versions of themselves, and rain, falling from clouds over a flock of solemnly painted sheep.

"Because we have to, darling." She answered.

Pugsley, still confused, shoved a knife into his suitcase. "Why? I thought she tried to kill you. And not because she liked you."

"Yes, -"

"Because she didn't." The curious boy cut her off.

"Yes, Pugsley. She did try to kill me." Morticia responded, patient.

"So, why do we have to see her?" Her son inquired.

"My father left me something very special when he died. Ophelia has it, and wants to give it back to me." She explained.

"Well, why are we all going?"

"Máma has a stomach virus, today marks the first day of Lurch's week off and your father and I are not going to leave you and your sister here alone. You'd kill each other." Morticia was getting a bit tired of all of these questions.

"But, mother-"

"And you're too young for that."

"Well, how long do we have to stay?" Pugsley asked.

"We are only staying for as long as needed, Pugsley. Ophelia and I are not exactly on speaking terms." Morticia replied.

"Well how long is that?"

"I am packing for three days, in case something goes wrong. But I do not want to have to stay at Ophelia's more than one night."

Pugsley took a deep breath. "But, why-" Question after question was popping into young Pugsley's mind.

"No more questions, now, Pugsley. Please, dear?" Morticia loved him dearly, but could not take another question.

"Yes, mother."

Morticia smiled with her eyes. "Thank you. Now," she picked up a large butcher knife off of Pugsley's narrow bed and grey bedsheets with spider designs all over them. "Is this for your sister?"

Pugsley nodded, solemnly.

Morticia shook her head. "I don't think so." She then walked over to her young son's mahogany wooden dresser, stained with a tiny bit of blood. She sighed, not knowing where he tracked it in from. She took a large machete off of the dresser and laid it in his black suitcase.

Pugsley smiled. "Thanks, mother. After all the times Wednesday has tried to use this thing on me..." He paused, nostalgic and his large eyes looked up at her. "Ya know, she almost got me last time."

Morticia patted his shoulder. "Really? Perhaps to brush up on your running skills, you could play _Hunt, Chase, Kill_ with Kitty?"

Pugsley pondered this. "Yea, maybe I should." He began to slowly back toward the door. "I think I'll go do that now." He was about to turn and leave, but Morticia caught him.

"Pugsley, get back here. You aren't finished packing."

Pugsley rolled his neck, dramatically. _"Mother, -"_

 _"Now."_ Morticia never raised her voice at her children, and this time was no different. It was not just that they were fairly obedient, but it was that all she had to do was change her tone slightly, or give one look. They knew when to cut the crap without her having to do much of anything.

"Yes, mother." The boy began to walk back, and finish packing his bags for a rather confusing journey.

At around nine o'clock, Morticia and Gomez were halfway through packing their own bags in their bedroom.

Their bedroom was indeed massive. It had a black, porcelain floor and dark purple wallpaper with gothic designs, also dark purple. The ceiling was black, and the bed was extremely comfortable and just a couple of inches larger than a California King. The silk and satin bedsheets were grey, and the bedframe was black. It lifted the bed a good three feet off of the ground, and had black, spike-shaped parts to it at the foot. It was the picture of dangerous, gothic elegance. Morticia's plant, Hernus, sat in a gothic vase on the small but fairly tall, mahogany nightstand. Morticia's vanity was near the door, and it looked as though a gothic distant relative of Count Dracula had once owned it. As a matter of fact, they did. There were windows on the right wall, with dark brown blinds.

There was a walk-in closet, divided in a way. In the right side, were all of Morticia's shoes and clothing. On the left, were Gomez's. Black curtains were used as the doors, but they were usually pushed back. The back wall was a grande mirror, and there was a black, couch in the middle of the closet, fit for a mortician's daughter, which Morticia happened to be.

They had a private bathroom, and it was large as well. It fit a shower with glass doors -the walls and floor of which the lovers had had specially made to be water resistant yet still beautiful- and a jacuzzi tub next to it, black marble being the exterior. The floor was black porcelain, as it was in their bedroom. The walls were crimson.

"I don't know, mon cher." Morticia sighed and shook her head, neatly folding one of her favourite black dresses and putting them in her gothic suitcase. It was partially leather and black with spikes near the handles, and black, velvet pentagram designs all over it. "I don't understand why my doctor keeps pushing Vitamin D. I am perfectly healthy."

Gomez walked out of the closet with a dark grey, pinstriped suit and a black bow-tie with skull designs on it. "Of course you are, carita." He put the suit and tie in his suitcase.

"I simply have a photosensitivity problem, it isn't severe. I get a mild irritaion when it's overly bright. That's all, I take care of it. And I am very thankful if that is the least of my concerns, health-wise." Morticia responded and added her black, gothic heels to the suitcase as well. "And it is."

Gomez nodded, in agreement but turned around and looked at his darling one. She was now standing in their closet, in thought, her eyes going over each one of her array of enchanting dresses, that oozed gothic elegance.

He embraced her from behind, and kissed her neck.

Morticia leaned into him and closed her eyes. "Ah..." She sighed. "Help me pick something out for tomorrow?"

Gomez squeezed her waist. "Of course, my dearest." He walked closer to the dresses and immideatley selected one of his favourites of her's.

It was tight and long-sleeved, as usual, and as black as the night. It was cut down to the crease in her breasts, and showcased her curves beautifully. Attatched to the dress was a black, elegant corset that was adorned with dark-crimson-coloured witch symbols. There were black diamonds at the wrists of her sleeves and at the waist of the corset.

"How about this?"

Morticia's black eyes sparkled for a moment. In her own hands, she held up a black, gothic choker with black gems dangling from it. "How about _this_?"

"Together?" Gomez inquired.

"Tortured minds _do_ think alike." Morticia flashed a Mona Lisa Smile.

She and her husband practically threw the dress and choker into the suitcase.

Gomez took off his vest, then grabbed her and kissed her, full of intense passion. "Mmm... mi amore de mi vida."

Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her delicate fingers through his hair. "Mon beau diable..."

Gomez grinned, seductively as she undid the buttons on his shirt, slowly.

"You look incredibly handsome in that outfit." Morticia said.

Gomez kissed her. "I wanted to look my best for you, querida."

"Oh, so did I, couldn't you tell?" Morticia kissed him back.

"You're a ravishing creature, mi reina." He unzipped her dress.

Soon, most of their clothes were discarded on the floor. Morticia was left in her black, alluring undergarments, including a sexy black garter, and her heels, and Gomez in his pants and boxer briefs under them.

The couple rolled over onto the bed and Gomez crawled on top of her.

He gave a low, feral growl. "How about we play a game?" He kissed her neck, and slowly made his way down to the crease in her cleavage.

Morticia internally shuddered. She loved how he could make her do that, even after almost twenty years together. "Is it the one where I tie you to the bed and get good use out of my whip?" She asked him, a passionate and slightly crazed gleam in her enchanting eyes.

He let his hands and lips sensually roam her body. "Mmm... I was thinking about bringing out my handcuffs."

Morticia raised an eyebrow, moaning at her husband's passionate touch. "Oh, no. Not this time. I let you punish me yesterday. You want power this time," Morticia sat up on her knees and grabbed Gomez, kissing him, roughly. "You're going to earn it."

"Eres divina..." Gomez went in for another kiss, desperately wanting more of the woman who had bewitched him since he first laid eyes on her.

Morticia gave a sadistic laugh and pushed him backwards.

Gomez could not help but smile at her. She was extremely sexy, especially when she took contol like that. God, he wanted to take her right there. But he knew he had to wait.

"Now..." Morticia walked into their closet and came back out with a black whip, and long, devil red peices of fabric. She took the fabric and -maintaining too much self control for Gomez to handle- tied his wrists to the bedpost. "How does that feel?"

Gomez gulped. "Tight."

A smile played on Morticia's lips as she stared at her work. It drove her insane with desire, watching her husband tied up and at her mercy. The best part, was she didn't have a shred of it. She shook her head, not yet completely satisfied. "Not tight enough." She tied his wrists as tight as possible, and grabbed her whip. She bent down by his face. "How's that?"

Gomez's eyes looked her up and down from her face to her breasts, and he felt his muscles tighten. "I have a beautiful view." He grinned.

Morticia, teasing, moved closer to him.

Gomez was ready to kiss her, but when he felt nothing, he opened his eyes and found her sitting at the foot of the bed. He shook his head. "Oh, now that is just cruel."

Morticia cocked her head, admiring the scene before her. "Well, darling, I don't exactly have a reputation in this regard for being kind." She whipped him.

Gomez hissed. "What was that for?" He inquired.

"No reason." Morticia admitted. "I just want to mark up that handsome chest of yours."

Gomez rolled his eyes, and bit his lip. "Is that all?"

Morticia cracked the whip, and played with it in her hands, raising her eyebrows at him. She walked around the perimeter of the bed, a lioness, stalking her prey. "Cocky, are we, Mr. Addams?"

"Well..." Gomez admired her beautiful body, and felt his pants become much too tight. "In a matter of speaking."

She whipped him, harder, leaving longer-lasting marks across his chest.

He gasped. "And this was for?"

"Quiet, you aren't in charge this time." Morticia pretended to be stern.

 _"Cualquier cosa, mi encantadora."_ Gomez's accent grew thicker with each impassioned syllable he spoke.

"Je connais mon pouvoir, mon amour." This time, when she whipped him, blood was drawn and she felt her knees weaken at the passionately painful cry that escaped Gomez's throat.

After ten minutes of this, Gomez spoke.

"Please, Tish. I need you." His erection was going to break through his bottoms in a moment, if he didn't have her.

Morticia stepped a bit closer to the bed, after watching him struggle some more. "Mmm... I need more."

Gomez groaned. "Eres sádica."

"Am I now?" Morticia laughed and slowly walked over to her tormented lover. "A sadist." She paused, then said, sarcastically, "I've never been called _that_ before."

"Yes you have, mi demonia."

Morticia leaned over him, and gasped. In one swift move, Gomez had grabbed her and gotten on top of her.

" _I'll_ be taking _this_." Gomez winked and chucked the whip across the bedroom.

Morticia closed her eyes, in melancholically passionate dismay. "I knew those should have been tighter."

"I was waiting for the right moment to capture you in my arms and devour you whole, carita." Gomez's pants came off, and he ripped off Morticia's undergarments. He began to leave a trail of sensual, burning hot kisses down her neck. "How's _that_?"

"Gomez..." Morticia moaned.

"Eres divina..." He let his lips and hands roam all over her wanting body, and made his way back up, taking his time, but desperation throwing his time into the wind. He leaned over her, looking into her eyes.

Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck. "I need you, _now_."

Gomez slipped off his boxer briefs, and gripped her waist. "Kiss me."

 _"Fuck me."_

Gomez did. He took her right there, and their sounds of pleasure echoes throughout their grand bedroom.

That morning, Morticia awoke in her husband's loving embrace. She looked up at him, and sighed, happily. Her center was sore from the pleasure he had given her last night, but she like it that way. Morticia felt a hand caress her and rub her back.

Gomez had awakened, she knew. He looked into her eyes and kissed her. "Good morning, cara mia." His lips met her neck.

"Ah, good morning, mon amour." Morticia blinked the tired out of her eyes. "Darling, what time do we have to be at the airport? I want to get an early start."

Gomez let his nails run over her back. He thought for a moment. "We should leave around 12:00, our flight leaves at 1:30." He responded.

Morticia nodded and glanced at the old, gothic clock on the wall. Her eyes enlarged. "Gomez, what time did you say our flight left?"

"1:30." Gomez responded.

Morticia gasped and her thoughts finally caught up to her. "It's 11:30!"

The pair practically jumped out of bed.

They raced about for an hour, barely eating anything and instructing the children to get ready while trying to get ready themselves. By the time they bid goodbye to Máma and left the house, it was 12:45.

Gomez breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed his wife's cold hand. He smiled. She was dressed in the outfit they had put together the night before.

"Alright, is everybody ready?" Gomez was out of breath as he put the key in the ignition.

Morticia put a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder. "Relax, darling. Everything will be alright." She adjusted the mirror, and looked at her children in the back seat. "Are you all ready, children?"

"Yes, mother." They nodded.

Pugsley paused. "Wait, where's Thing?"

Gomez buckled in. "Thing is staying at home, to take care of Máma."

"Oh." Pugsley sighed. "What a nice Thing."

"Pugsley, stop talking." Ten-year-old Wednesday rolled her eyes. She always was moodier than usual when waking up.

 _'Tis Wednesday who has the child of woe._ That is why her parents named her what they did. And the old rhyme did indeed prove to be true. Wednesday was indeed woeful, but more so monotone. She was pale, the second palest in the family next to her ghost white mother. She was petite in stature, and merely five feet tall, but still two inches taller than her younger brother. Her hair was black, but looked very dark brown in certain lights. It was long, straight and down to her upper back. She wore it in long braids every day. This went well with her pale lips, dark, soulless eyes and dresses. Her dresses were black, and gothic. They were long sleeved with collars and cuffs, and down to her knees. She wore black combat boots with them. Trying to be like her mother, she painted her nails red. Sometimes, sometimes, they were black. Her dress, today was black, as usual with white skull and crossbones designed buttons down the front, and a white collar and cuffs at the wrists. Wednesday always did tell the girls at school, _I'll stop wearing black when they make a darker colour._

Gomez began to back out of the driveway as his wife spoke.

"Now, don't do that to your brother, Wednesday." She chastised her.

"Yea." Wednesday's two-years-younger brother stuck his tongue out at her.

"What do we say?" Morticia questioned her oldest.

Wednesday turned to stare at Pugsley, coldly. "Now."

"Better." Morticia smiled, proudly as Gomez began the drive to the airport.

Having run eight red lights, they finally made it to the airport at 1:15.

Gomez and Morticia ushered the children into the big, white building and eyed all of the people.

Morticia held her husband's arm a bit tighter, the more they were sucked into the hoard of one of the _best_ _airports in Massachusetts_... the Mockrage City Airport.

People, of all shapes and sizes, wearing white or pastels or _fun_ , tourist hats. Many of them had bright, eager smiles and terrible posture. Morticia really felt nervous for her children when a class of a Christian Bible study group walked past, wearing bright yellow and white baseball caps that read, _Find the light, Become the bright._ on them. Morticia was ready to vomit all over her beautiful dress, but she held it back.

Wednesday tapped her mother.

Morticia looked down at her eldest child. "Yes, my little spider?"

"Why are all these people dressed like they came from a mission's retreat?"

Morticia was shocked. "How do you even know what that is? Who told you about those?"

Wednesday rolled her eyes. "Mother, I'm ten years old."

Morticia sighed as they walked to airport security. "Yes, I know." She shook her head. "Wednesday, take a look at all of these people. Their determined air, their bright, eager smiles." She grimaced in disgust. "Be more like your Great Aunt Calpurnia."

Wednesday nodded while her mother briefly patted her shoulder. "Yes, mother."

They made it through the metal detectors alright, but continuously received strange glances from police officers and pedestrians alike.

Gomez desperately needed a cigar, but knew about that blasted _no smoking in the airport_ policy. It was the most ridiculous thing! Really, it was.

Finally, the family was able to sit down in the waiting area, after hearing word that their flight would be about fifteen minutes late.

Gomez felt his eye twitch when he heard that. They had left in a hurry, and his family had barely gotten a chance to eat a decent meal, only to have their flight be delayed? Outrageous! Being the hot-blooded Spaniard that he was, he was prepared to say something, but then he looked at his beautiful carita. She was gently leading him to the waiting area. So all he said was _alright_ and walked with her to sit down.

There were about twenty people in the thirty-five-seat waiting area. Most of them shifted as far away from the odd family as possible, as soon as they sat down. Some of them didn't care enough to, and they would regret it.

Morticia and her husband sat on the couch-like-seat, and the children sat next to their father in regular chairs.

Gomez held his tired wife and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Don't be too upset, darling. At least the plane didn't veer of course too much." Morticia looked up at him and took his hand.

Gomez chuckled. "At least without us on it."

Morticia shook just a bit, and smiled. That was one of her small laughs, usually given when she was tired but amused. Gomez knew that like nobody else. "Darling, please. I know how we feel about her but we must be cordial."

Gomez stroked her hair. "I know. But she doesn't deserve it."

"No, she doesn't." Morticia agreed.

Gomez decided to make the most of the situation and thought it best not to talk about it. "So, did you and Ruby do anything in Denver besides move her deceased uncle?" He laughed.

A blonde haired, middle-aged woman whom was reading _Vogue_ gasped. She and her husband -whom were separated by a young boy, twelve or thirteen years of age- exchanged an alarmed look.

Morticia smiled and sat up, looking at her husband. "Yes, actually. Ruby showed me a lovely coffee shop downtown."

Satisfied the conversation was going back to normal, she thought, the woman resumed reading her magazine.

"Really? What was it called? A cousin of mine owns a coffee and tea shop in Derrindown."

Morticia nodded. "Yes, I believe that's where she took me. _Ebony Gardens_?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"Well, her tea is magnificent. But, perhaps you should recommend she add a bit more cyanide."

The woman, eyes enlarged, looked up from her magazine once more. _Oh, please by some miracle of God_ , she thought. _Let us not be on the same flight._

"Yes, that always troubled me."

"I don't believe it was too wise for her to go. Not that it isn't a lovely place, but it's theme is poison, and Ruby _is_ still a suspect." Morticia told him.

The woman gulped and shakily continued reading.

Gomez inched closer to her. "Ruby couldn't have asked for a better companion." He kissed her hand.

"Merci, mon cher."

Gomez grinned, seductively. "Tish... that's French."

Morticia gave a saucy reply. _"Qui."_

The woman next to the family rolled her eyes, in disdain.

Gomez began to breath hard and grabbed her and pulled her in.

Morticia gave him her arm, and he kissed it, full of intense passion. Quickly, he reached her lips and captured them.

 _"Cara mia..."_ Gomez looked into her eyes.

 _"Mon sauvage..."_ Morticia replied, breathless.

Gomez bent her back, and his tongue danced with hers, eliciting a beautiful moan from Morticia.

The woman just sat there, slack-jawed. She dropped her magazine and threw it at her husband.

"Oww!" The tall, pudgy, brown-haired man looked at her. _"What the hell was that for, Jennifer?"_

Jennifer rolled her eyes. " _Just read it,_ Tod. Don't look at anything. Tune out." She fussed with her purse.

Tod seemed confused. "You want me to read _Vogue_?"

"Yes, just..." Jennifer looked over to see if the couple was still making out, harder than a brick wall.

They were.

The young boy had been watching for a minute now. "Hey mom?" He asked, not looking away. "Can I do that to a girl someday?"

Tod laughed.

 _"Look away, Jimmy."_ Jennifer ordered.

Jimmy kept looking.

 _"Jimmy!"_ Jennifer scolded, and thrust her hand over the boy's eyes.

Wednesday was starving at this point, and looked at the clock. They still had a good few minutes. And if she sent Pugsley to fetch food and they left him at the airport, it would be one less person to look after, she reasoned with herself.

"Pugsley, go get us something to eat." Wednesday paused. _"Now."_

 _"Hey, -"_

Wednesday looked over at her father, practically devouring her mother's face and rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

"What?" Pugsley turned to see what Wednesday was seeing, and quickly turned back to his sister.

"Mother and father don't need to consume anything but each other's tongues right now." Wednesday said, nonchalantly and adjusted her cuffs.

"Eww, _Wednesday_!" Pugsley shook his head.

"Well? It's true, is it not?" Wednesday raised an eyebrow. She was too much like her mother.

"Yea." Pugsley decided.

"Well, I'm still hungry." Wednesday said.

The oblivious Pugsley seemed confused. "But, I'm your brother."

Wednesday rolled her eyes. _"Don't be an idiot, Pugsley."_

"That was mean! Just because your angry doesn't mean I have to be sad." Pugsley said.

Wednesday pondered this, then gave a nod. "You're right. You don't have to be sad."

Pugsley waited.

"You could also be dead." Wednesday looked over at a food stand, and gestured to it.

Pugsley gulped, but stood. "Sometimes I hate you."

"Really? I hate you all the time." Wednesday lied. She was supposed to torture her brother. She'd be there for him no matter what in the end, but right now she was not going to be nice.

"Meanie." Pugsley remarked.

 _"Ooh."_ Wednesday said, in mock offense. "That hit me _hard_."

Pugsley checked his shorts' pocket for his wallet and walked up to the food stand.

Two minutes later, Pugsley was at the front of the line.

"Flight six-sixty-six. Flight six-sixty-six." The announcement came over the speakers in the area.

Gomez looked up from his wife's neck, then into her eyes. "Tish, my darling... I believe our flight was called."

Morticia processed this, getting her bearings, after the trip she had just been on, no plane needed. "I believe you're right."

Gomez helped her up and they adjusted themselves. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Later, my dearest." Morticia confirmed. "Preferably sooner, but-" She looked around for her youngest. When she could not find him, she turned to Wednesday. "Have you seen your brother?"

Wednesday got a surprised look on her usually expressionless face. "No, mother. One minute he was here, the next, he wasn't." It wasn't a complete lie.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Wednesday, we have to go. Please don't play games, not right now."

Wednesday nodded, feigning innocence. "Of course not, mother. I wouldn't do that. I know how important this is."

"Wednesday, he could not have just disappeared." Morticia responded, logically. "No one in the family has even begun to teach you black magic yet."

"Again, flight six-sixty-six. Flight six-sixty-six." The announcement came again.

Jennifer stood up and looked at her plane ticket. "Wow," She began her sarcastic statement. "Seat thirteen on flight _six-six-six. I feel safe._ "

 _"Come on, Jennifer."_ Tod rolled his eyes and stole a glance at Morticia, causing his wife to slap him in the back of the head.

Gomez noticed and gripped his wife's slim waist.

Morticia, Gomez and Wednesday then set off to find Pugsley.

After three minutes of searching, they found him, paying for food at _Dark Delight_ , a shop renamed for early Halloween preparation.

 _"Pugsley!"_ Gomez called to his son. "This is no time for snacking, old man! Our flight's been called!"

Pugsley grabbed the food and ran, unsure if he paid to little or too much. He then threw a dollar in change at the cashier. "Keep the change! If there is any!" He called to her. He joined his family and they briskly continued walking to the doors.

"Pugsley, you can't just up and leave. I know you're hungry, dear, but what they have on the plane is almost edible. I promise." Morticia said, as tenderly as she could.

"Yes, Pugsley. You really shouldn't just run off like that." Wednesday had a cocky edge to her monotone voice.

"But, Wednesday made me-" Pugsley noticed his sister's death glare and shut up. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Pugsley." Gomez replied.

Pugsley smiled, happily. "But, I got snacks."

Wednesday sighed and gave a roll of her eyes as they approached the doors.

The woman taking their plane tickets looked at the foursome, strangely. "Plane..." She gulped. "Plane tickets please."

"Oh, of course, dear." Morticia handed her the tickets. "Tell me, has this plane ever experienced any severe turbulence?"

The overly perky woman gave a forced smile. "No, ma'am. Nothing we couldn't handle."

Morticia nodded, a bit disheartened. She looked at her husband. "Gomez?"

Gomez squeezed her waist and kissed her neck. "Don't worry, cara mia." He whispered in her ear. _"We'll change that."_

Chills were sent down her spine when he said that. "You always know just what to say." She pressed into him.

The woman reluctantly handed them their seat numbers. "Seats _A Seventeen_ through _Twenty_. Right in front of _A Thirteen_ through _Fifteen_."

Jennifer, whom was right in front of the family, groaned out loud.

Wednesday leaned toward her brother. "Perhaps I should sit next to her. She seems easily upset."

Pugsley nodded. "Can we play _Snakes on a Plane_?"

Wednesday shook her head. "I don't think so, Pugsley. I guess we're not allowed."

They took their seat numbers and walked through the doors.

Pugsley spoke, still confused. "But-"

"No. We could get arrested. And on any other day, I'm sure we'd be praised for it. But, not today." Despite what her brother thought, Wednesday did understand the severity of the situation, to a degree.

"Darn." Pugsley dragged his feet as they walked.

They were seated on the plane, and not five minutes later, they were confronted by an stressed stewardess.

She was young, and pretty by modern standards. She had a valley girl accent, and was flabbergasted. She probably had not worked on the plane long. "Sir,"

Gomez smoked his much-needed cigar. "Yes?"

She shook her head. " _No._ There is no smoking on this plane."

Gomez held the cigar in his hand. "I don't see the harm."

The stewardess' mouth was so wide open, it could have been a cave. "Well, the other fifty eight people on this plane do, sir!"

"Nonsense, my children happen to have no problem at all, and they are _two_ of the other fifty-eight people on this plane."

"Nor does his wife." Morticia sat up, proudly. "I don't see the harm. Is one little cigar really going to make all that much of a difference in the functionality of this plane?"

The stewardess looked confused. "I don't know what any of those words meant."

"It means that while indeed there is a _no smoking_ sign in the air _port_ , there is not one on the air _plane_."

"Well, common sense would tell you-" She sighed. "Please put the cigar out, sir. Don't make me call airport security."

Gomez sighed and put it out in his coat-pocket. "There is no need for that."

The stewardess nodded. "Thank you." She then exited, and a second stewardess began the safety procedure directions.

"And, in case of a crash, or severe signs of a crash, we-" The stewardess smiled and looked at Wednesday and Pugsley, in the seats in front of Tod and Jimmy. "Oh, I see there are children here!" She eyed Wednesday. "Do you know what we're supposed to do, sweetheart?" The stewardess asked, condescendingly.

All eyes were on the child.

"Yes." Wednesday straightened up. "Hold on for short life and kiss your ass goodbye." Her monotone voice was back. It was bone chilling to her audience; how cool she was being about it.

There were gasps from all about the plane, and her parents smiled, and exchanged a proud gaze.

The stewardess straightened up herself, and gulped. "No, honey, but... good guess."

She then gave the real directions, which Wednesday thought pointless, and braced herself for a very long flight.

It had been three hours, as it was now 5:15.

Morticia was sleeping on her husband's shoulder, his arms around her. She had put the cover over her window about a half an hour after takeoff.

Gomez would fall in and out of sleep. Whenever awake, he would check on his children and the sleeping goddess in his arms. He would kiss her cheek or forehead and stroke her hair. He had a bad gut feeling about going to Ophelia's, a very bad gut feeling. So, he would protect his querida even if he didn't know just what from... even if he had a guess.

Finally, the plane landed in Fareigndale at 7:15 pm.

Gomez and Morticia had been involved in a serious form of clothed foreplay for an entire hour, but had fallen asleep next to each other a half an hour prior, after eating and being interrupted by a disgruntled stewardess.

Jennifer looked awful. She exchanged a tired look with her husband. _"Hours."_ She shook her head at the couple as they exited the plane, in disbelief.

"I think they're cool." Her son smiled.

 _"Keep moving, Jimmy!"_ Jennifer barked.

The Addams' then hailed a taxi, and arrived at Ophelia's house within the hour.

Gomez helped his exhausted wife to her feet and led her out of the taxi. It was lightly raining but very windy, and he -despite Morticia's light, independent protests- put her cloak on. The children helped out and took the luggage out of the car.

The family walked up to the door of Ophelia's house. It was pitiful, compared to the luxury she used to be showered in by her sugar daddies. It was probably 2,300 square feet, and had a fresh coat of white paint. The door was pastel yellow, and had a fall wreath on it. The window panes were the same colour as the door, and there was a cheap, pink car in the driveway.

Wednesday grimaced. "Who is she again?"

"Your Aunt Ophelia." Morticia tried to hide the disgust in her own voice.

Wednesday looked the house up and down. "Her house looks disturbing."

Morticia nodded, in agreement and sighed. "Well, darling, some people have a _twisted_ sense of beauty."

"Like us?" Wednesday inquired.

 _"No."_ Morticia replied. " _Nothing_ like us."

With those words, she rang the doorbell.


	3. There's No Blood on the Walls

The pastel yellow door opened without a creak. There then stood Ophelia Anastasia Frump.

Ophelia was long-legged but not nearly as much as her younger sister, nor was she as flexible. She was nearly five foot seven, and thin, with the measurements of 35"-30"-35" and only a C-cup chest. She had fair white skin, and did not react in the sun very much anymore. As a result, she was simply fair and not as tan as she used to be. Her eyes were blue, and they once were as sparkly and crystal clear as the sea itself. However, with trials and time, and age -which she resented even more than she did her sister- had changed that. They lost their gleam. They were now just average, blue eyes. Her hair was shorter now, in a curled bob and the same colour of sunny, golden blonde. It fit her well, better than her old hair did. She looked good for her age, thirty-eight. She had been I.D.'d at the club more than a few times.

Ophelia was wearing a white, flowing dress. It was low-cut, showing off what she did have. The dress was high-low, and strapless. The bottom of her gown was lined in ivory-coloured lace. Her shoes were satin high heels with ankle straps, and pastel yellow, like her door. Her nails of average length matched the shoes, and she wore a white pearl choker with a matching bracelet on her right wrist. Her eyeshadow was white, and her makeup was... nice. Too mainstream for her sister's taste, however. Her lipstick was of a rosie pink shade.

"Morticia." Ophelia gave a standoffish nod.

Morticia's nod was a confident one, and she felt her husband's arm slip tighter around her waist. "Ophelia."

Ophelia observed the family. "So, you brought the whole bunch?" She paused. "How nice." She bent down to eye-level with Wednesday and Pugsley. "Hello, children. I'm your Aunt Ophelia."

It disgusted Gomez to hear the words, _Aunt Ophelia_. After what _Aunt Ophelia_ pulled he didn't think _Aunt Ophelia_ should ever be called Aunt Ophelia. But by blood, she was, no matter how thin it indeed felt.

Pugsley was afraid of the woman. She looked like she would grow old to be a wealthy widow, living with nine cats and having murdered all of her hundred husbands, and counting.

Wednesday was intimidated, but did not at all let it show. She couldn't. One of them had to be strong here. "Hello, Aunt Ophelia." She shook her hand.

Ophelia gave a fake, toothy smile, and almost pulled it off. "Oh, and you must be Wendy!"

Wednesday was taken aback.

Gomez raised an eyebrow. "Wednesday."

Ophelia fought the urge to glare at the man who helped send her life into a downward spiral. Even after twenty years, she had not figured out she did it all herself.

Instead, she smoothed down her dress and looked up at him. "That's what I said." She replied. She then turned her head to Pugsley. "And you must be Peter." She stretched out her hand, and Pugsley shook it.

"Pugsley." Morticia corrected.

Ophelia looked at both her sister and her sister's husband. "Are you people deaf or something? That's what I said."

"Sure it is, dear." Morticia sighed. She already hated this and wanted to turn back and leave, but she couldn't.

Pugsley looked up at Ophelia, with questioning eyes. "Why did you try to kill mother?"

Morticia sucked in a quiet breath, and did a mental face-palm.

Ophelia fixated her eyes on the boy, but said nothing. She stood to her full height and looked her younger sister up and down. "I see you've turned them against me already." She laughed, as if it were some sort of joke.

Morticia chuckled. "Oh, believe me, Ophelia. If anything turned them against you, it was your actions, not me."

Ophelia and her sister both knew the jokes were all too serious. As in every joke, there is a hint of truth. This hint, happened to be more of an answer.

Ophelia laughed with her sister for a little too long, and finally, she looked out at what she considered awful weather. She sighed. " _Do_ come in."

Ophelia opened the door fully for the family and closed it once they got into the house.

They did not show their disgust, but it was not an easy task. The house was dreadful.

The walls were ivory or white, and had pastel boarders. The floor was a light-coloured hard wood, and there was a narrow flight of stairs too close to the door, the of a white hardwood. Lining the walls were pictures of the sunset, or the ocean and a few pictures of Ophelia or Ophelia with a miniature poodle. Some of the pictures were solely of the poodle. In nearly every picture the creature was wearing some sort of ridiculous ensemble, a blazer, a fuchsia and sparkly pink tutu or a full-on ballerina costume. In one of them, close to the dining room archway entrance, the dog was wearing a baby blue bikini with red roses all over it, and a matching hat.

As they walked into the living room, it grew increasingly hard not to vomit. The walls were ivory with pastel blue boarders. There was a large window that one could sit at with white, silk curtains. The pictures grew increasingly off-putting to the Addams. As one wall was covered in pictures from a _doggie- Vogue_ shoot. There was a pink, floral couch and a golden, _Queen Anne_ chandelier which she stole from a friend's wedding present stash, hanging from the ceiling. Across from the couch was a white arm-chair. There was a small television against the wall in a brown Tv stand. There was a large, cream-coloured-ish chair, hanging from the ceiling. It was placed uniquely, in turn forming a triangular shape with the couch and arm-chair. A glass coffee table with a tea set on it, and a remote, was placed in the middle of the triangle.

The family took their seats. Gomez pulled out a cigar to smoke and sat with Morticia on the couch. Ophelia sat in the arm-chair and the children made themselves comfortably at the window.

Ophelia broke the newfound silence and began to pour tea. "One lump or two?" She asked, unable to feign the required amount of sweetness.

"Two for me!" Pugsley called to her.

Ophelia was about to put two sugars in the cup.

Morticia looked back at her children. "Absolutely not!" Her tone was not harsh, as her voice was subtle and had a bit of air to it. It was not extremely powerful. "Wednesday, please explain to your brother that it is not two lumps of cyanide cubes, it is two lumps of sugar."

Wednesday looked up. "Yes, mother." She turned to Pugsley. "You're pretty stupid, aren't you?"

"No. I just didn't know it was sugar." Pugsley replied, defensively.

"Well, with that thinking, how are you going to win the science fair next year?" Wednesday questioned.

"It is not the science fair, it's the bake-off." Pugsley corrected.

"Uh-huh. Same thing." Wednesday shook her head. "You've a lot to learn."

Her work having been done for now, Morticia turned her attention to Ophelia. "None for me, dear."

Ophelia nodded and poured the cups. She looked to Gomez. "I don't assume you want any tea?"

"Not from you." Gomez felt his wife squeeze his thy roughly, taking the hint that he had to be somewhat decent. He quickly continued. "At the moment. You see, I'm just not very thirsty."

Morticia pulled a tiny vile from her dress. There was red liquid in it. She mixed it into her tea.

"Let me guess." Ophelia scoffed. "Blood and arsenic?"

"No, dear. Not arsenic." Morticia sipped her tea, and added, "Not for me, anyway.", quietly.

Ophelia nearly spit her tea out. _"What?"_

Morticia appeared confused. "What?"

Gomez figured he should attempt conversation. "So, Ophelia? How have you been getting on?"

Ophelia sighed. "Take a look around."

Gomez did, his arms still tight around Morticia. "So, not to well?"

Ophelia felt her muscles tighten. _"Mmm..."_ Her face contorted, slightly, as if she had briefly sucked on a lemon. "Aren't we full of _lovely_ compliments?"

"We are. I could have said _terribly_ but I refrained." Gomez smoked his cigar.

Morticia side-eyed Gomez. _"Mon cher."_ She chastised, barely audibly.

 _"Cara mia."_ Gomez did the same.

 _"Sois cordial."_ Morticia reminded him.

 _"Sto provando."_

Ophelia pretended not to notice the quite literally foreign conversation and soon, did not have to think of another topic of for a new one.

Aurora, Ophelia's two-year-old, spoiled as all ever-loving hell poodle, waltzed into the room. She was wearing a flashy, hot pink dress with a matching beret and booties.

Ophelia scooped the dog up in her arms. "Aurora, how are you, precious?"

Disturbed, Morticia turned back to her children. "Go find your guestroom, children."

Wednesday rolled her eyes. "But, mother-"

Gomez cut his daughter off. "Now, listen to your mother. Please take your luggage upstairs."

The children reluctantly obeyed and began to lug their bags up the awful-looking, narrow stairs.

Morticia gave a small, 'thank you', smile to her husband and continued the conversation. "Oh, yes. I see you've gotten a dog."

Ophelia stopped nuzzling Aurora and the animal laid in her arms, calmly. It seemed to be watching Morticia, as if it, too hated her.

"Yes, Morticia." Ophelia gave a sour smile. "Now, don't kill this one." She laughed.

Morticia feigned mock offense. "Never, Ophelia. I would merely dream of it."

Ophelia inhaled deeply. "Your humour always was... _macabre_."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Humour?"

Ophelia gulped, but it was silent and Aurora leapt from the couch, tail between her legs.

"Must you destroy _everything_ I love?" Every dig the sisters took at each other was delivered in a slightly evil, joking manner, so as to give the illusion that they both had not killed each other three times over in their heads.

Morticia chuckled. "You love?"

That dig may have been a stab, but not a fatal one.

Gomez couldn't help but smirk. He both adored and admired the way Morticia could drag someone across the concrete, and it was almost effortless. She was a wizard with words.

Ophelia sat up straighter. "Well, there's no point in small talk. After all, it is almost ten o'clock. I should find that box. That's why you're here, is it not?"

Gomez nodded. "Yes, it is. I can assure you, if not for that box, we wouldn't be sitting in these chairs."

Ophelia stood up. "Oh, yes. How I wish things had worked out differently." She lied.

Gomez nodded, and took a puff of his cigar. "As do I. Now, where is the box?"

"In my bedroom on my nightstand. I'll go get it." Ophelia then bitterly added, "If I see the children, I'll point them to the guestroom. Although I highly doubt they lost their way." She walked upstairs.

Once completely alone, Gomez turned to Morticia and sat closer to her. "What happened to _be cordial_?"

"I was being cordial." Morticia back and forth. "Cordially upset."

Gomez gripped her waist. "Did I ever tell you I love how terrible you can be?"

Morticia gave a small smile. "You have." She sat in his lap. "But I think I need you to tell me again."

Gomez groaned. "I adore you, Tish." He kissed her neck. "And I absolutely love how terrible you can be."

 _"Mon sauvage..."_

"Ah, eres divina." Gomez continued to bite and suck her neck, and soon that turned into a make-out session.

It took a half an hour, but Ophelia finally came downstairs with the box. "Alright, now, there is something I must tell you both. I-"

She nearly dropped Morticia's box at the sight before her. Just seeing her younger sister so happy, let alone watching whatever the hell Gomez was doing to her neck, made her want to throw up all over everyone and everything.

"Ah-hem!" She cleared her throat.

Morticia and Gomez turned their attention to Ophelia and straightened themselves out.

Ophelia rolled her eyes and sat in the chair across from them. "Damn, if I would have come back a minute later, I probably would have walked in on a different picture."

Gomez sat up, Morticia in his lap. "Yes, probably." Gomez agreed.

Morticia dug her nails into his shoulder and he hissed. He knew it was for no real reason, merely because she wanted to. He kissed her hand.

Ophelia set the box on the coffee table. "Can't keep your hands off each other at all, can you?" She asked.

"Me, keep my hands off of my beautiful Tish? Not even when she was in labour." Gomez said, proudly, and his lips met her hand.

Ophelia avoided his eyes. "I don't want to know." She then forced herself to look at the pair. "Listen, there's something I should tell you two."

"We can leave?" Gomez asked.

Ophelia sighed. "Not unless you never want to find out what's in the box."

Gomez's bad gut feeling returned.

 _"Pardon?"_ Morticia asked.

"The key is missing. I'm going to have to resume looking for it in the morning."

Morticia and Gomez shared an alarmed look.

"No, we really should be looking now." Gomez was not about to spend more time than required at this awful place. And he would be damned if his querida was going to either. "Morticia and I will help. But we have a plane to catch in the morning." He explained.

Ophelia sighed. "Sorry. But unlike you two, I need sleep." She paused. "That's why my room is nowhere near yours." She stood up.

Morticia looked up at her sister, saddened but not showing it. "Ophelia, please. I think you know how important this is to me. He was our father, and I know we aren't on the best of terms but, could you look for the key tonight? For him?" She asked.

Ophelia, heartless stared back at her. "I apologize, _master_ but unlike Gomez, I'm not a slave for you." She eyed Gomez then, coldly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to take my traumatized puppy up to her bedroom." With that, she walked into the kitchen, in search of her dog.

Gomez then picked Morticia up in his arms and she squeezed against him, so he could take her up the stairs.

"We'll find it, my darling."

Morticia nodded. "Thank you for coming."

Gomez closed his eyes fora moment, and sighed. He walked out of the living room, then ascending the stairs. "Of course, cara mia." He paused. "Ophelia was right about one thing."

"What's that, mon amour?"

"I am a slave for you." He growled.

Morticia looked into his handsome, dark eyes. "Well, I never doubted it."

Gomez kissed her. "Oh, Tish..." He paused, deciding to say what he had said after the terrible fight she had with Ophelia those twenty years ago. She almost died, and that memory was burned in his brain. "I need to get you into bed."

Morticia understood immediately, and replied with her old words as well. "Darling... I think I might be a bit sore for that."

Gomez laughed and finished his ascent up the stairs. "Not this time." He paused. "Not yet, you're not."

"I'm guessing you're going to change that?" Morticia asked, seduction in her already alluring voice.

" _Soon,_ my dearest. _Very soon._ " Gomez carried her on, looking for their guest bedroom.

Meanwhile, Wednesday and Pugsley unpacked their poison and knives. Wednesday even snuck her guillotine into her suitcase.

The room was awful. It had a pinkish-red boarder on the white walls and not just no barred windows, but no windows at all. There was a small, white wooden dresser and an average-sized bed with white, pink and red swirl designs all over the bedsheets.

Wednesday grimaced in disgust as she helped Pugsley button up his pajama shirt. His night ensemble looked more like he had just escaped from Alcatraz. Not that ironic, considering it was made there. Pugsley's pen-pals always were generous gift-givers.

" _Ugh_ , this room looks like Santa and the Queen of Hearts threw up and painted the walls with it." Wednesday eyed the sickening bedsheets, and gagged. "Then they did it and came all over the bed." She could turn a colourful phrase. She got it from her mother, like most of her attributes, both external and internal.

Pugsley ignored the statement. "How'd you do it?" He asked.

Wednesday finished buttoning his shirt. "Do what?"

"Sneak your guillotine onto the plane?"

Wednesday responded, sarcastically, "Can't you tell? I just have a sweet face."

Pugsley rolled his eyes. He then looked around the room, disgusted and disheartened.

Wednesday prided herself on her dark soul or lack thereof, she could not get into specifics. But she was also an older sister, so she sighed and looked at Pugsley. "What's the matter?" She asked, thinking she knew the answer.

"There's no blood on the walls." Pugsley explained, sadly.

Wednesday eyed her brother, evilly, and took his machete out of his suitcase. "We could change that."

Pugsley smiled a wide, wicked smile. "How?"

Wednesday played with the weapon in her hands, sinisterly. "We could play a game."

"What game?" Pugsley inquired, stepping closer to her.

"Remember the week I got suspended?" Wednesday asked.

Pugsley nodded. "Yea, mother and father were really proud."

Wednesday smiled inside. "Yes." She nodded, sometimes briefly looking away from the weapon she was enamored with and at her brother. "I tried to teach the game to the kids at school during recess." She paused and looked at Pugsley. "It's called _Ninety-Nine Vials of Blood on the Wall_."

Gomez smoked his cigar and watched as his encantadora readied herself for bed.

The room had neutral walls, the same floor as in the living room and a queen-sized bed with lilac bedsheets. The cheap vanity was white and wooden. There was a large window with white and lilac blinds. The bed had a white, silk canopy. Any smart person could tell that Ophelia acquired these things back when her looks and her body could buy her nice things. Back when she mattered to men, to the world.

However, Morticia remained strong and brushed her hair with her silver filigree brush. She removed her makeup and looked nonetheless beautiful without it. At thirty-seven, she looked not a day over thirty, thirty-one.

She had changed into her black, silk nightgown and pushed her hair over her shoulder. Now, all she had to do was remove her earrings. She did, and could not help but watch her husband stare at her every movement through the mirror. Little did Gomez know, that the longer he looked, the more time she would take. His wife loved to play mind games with him.

Morticia, herself, soon could not take it anymore and walked over to the bed. Elegantly, she fell into her husband's outstretched arms. She realized, once on the bed, that her heels were on. Ah well, let them stay on, they were beautiful anyway.

Gomez pushed the hair out of her face, tenderly, and kissed her. "Tish... I am terribly sorry that we have to stay here. I know we planned for it but, still."

"No, darling, I'm sorry. It's my fault that we have to stay with her." Morticia replied.

Gomez shook his head. "Cara mia, it is nobody's fault. Your father wanted you to have... whatever it is that is in that box, for a reason. And so help me God, will you be alone with that woman."

Morticia sighed. "Merci, mon amour."

"Something is troubling you. What?" Gomez asked, concerned.

Morticia looked away, briefly. "Oh, nothing mon diable."

Gomez kissed her hand. " _Please, Morticia._ Is there anything you need?"

 _"Yes."_ Morticia admitted. "Just you, taking me in this horrendous-looking white room. Because so help _me_ God, will we be miserable like this."

Gomez grinned, seductively. "I think that can be arranged." He leaned in for a kiss but she pulled away.

Morticia smiled, grateful he didn't have a shirt on so she could admire his handsome features. "Not so fast. Get on your knees and beg for me."

Gomez stole a kiss on her neck and got off of the bed.

Morticia sat up, and gracefully swung her covered legs over the side of the bed.

Gomez got down on his knees before her.

"You're a cruel woman, Morticia." Gomez's looked her up and down, needing her. His lips met her hand. He was about to get up but Morticia's heeled shoe met his shoulder, and gently led him back down.

Gomez couldn't help but smile at her. She was a black goddess he had consumed in the past, and would continue to, never, ever growing full in the slightest, only growing hungrier. If Morticia was a drug, he was the world's biggest addict, and would never break his habit, no matter what. He kissed her shoe. "God, I adore you."

Morticia smiled. "I know."

Gomez removed her shoes and began to kiss her up her leg. He crawled onto the bed and got on top of her, looking into her beautiful eyes.

He stayed like that for a minute, staring and stroking her hair.

Morticia raised an eyebrow, and gave an almost silent laugh. "What are you doing?"

Gomez was lost in her beauty. But the sound of her voice brought him back to his wonderful reality. "Just looking at you. Looking at you and thanking every higher, or lower, power there may be that you're mine."

"Oh, mon cher..." Morticia looked away for a moment, her form of blushing. She looked back. "Damn right I'm yours." She cupped his cheek with her hand.

 _"Forever._ " Gomez kissed her hand.

Morticia's eyes fixated on his very soul. _"Prove it."_

No further direction ever needed, Gomez did. He kissed her and touched her all over her breathtaking body, tearing off her nightgown and discarding his own clothing as well. He was a desperate, howling demon. And that morning, he would be pleased to learn that he had frightened her... and he would gladly do it again.

Ophelia listened through the wall, in the next room over. Not her bedroom but it didn't matter. _Just like old times,_ she thought. She knew what her sister could do since the first night she listened to everything be taken away from her between passionate kisses, the sound of whips and chains and declarations of undying love. And just as before... just as before, Ophelia knew _exactly_ what she had to do.


	4. A Potion

Midnight. Pugsley's eyes jolted open.

The young boy could not sleep a wink. He had finished playing _Ninety-Nine Vials of Blood on the Wall_ with Wednesday a while ago now. She won.

Pugsley turned to his left and shook his sister. "Wednesday!" He whisper-yelled.

Sleeping like a corpse, her hands folded over her chest and her hair draped over the pillows, almost as graceful as her mother, she did not stir.

"Wednesday!" Pugsley tried again. He shook her with more force. "Wednesday, I heard _The Backstreet Boys_ were coming to Mockrage!"

Wednesday woke up instantly, afraid and angered. She looked around, then to Pugsley. "Hand me the knife, Pugsley, now. I'm going to end my life."

Pugsley rolled his eyes. "No they aren't. Relax. I was just trying to wake you up."

Wednesday took a deep breath. "I see. In that case," She paused, and fully turned to her younger brother. "Hand me that knife, Pugsley, now. I'm going to end _your_ life."

Pugsley shook his head. "No, Wednesday. Come on, _please don't._ " He whined. "I just can't sleep. I'm bored and I hate this place. Aunt Ophelia's house is awful-looking and so is she. I hate it here, and I'm worried about mother." He sighed. "And father." He admitted, then. "And you." He sat crisscross.

"Why me?" Wednesday asked.

Pugsley didn't answer, but instead said something else. "Aunt Ophelia seems... weird. And not like a good kind of _Jack the Ripper_ weird. Like a _New Kids on the Block_ weird."

Wednesday sighed. "That's because she is."

"Yea, but I don't think we're safe here." Pugsley tried to explain again.

"Exactly."

"Huh?"

Wednesday got up. "Want to go explore the house?"

"Why?" Pugsley asked. "It's all cruddy and boring anyway."

"No. The only truly cruddy and boring things are school and basic girls who won't shut up about their new noses and their boyfriends." Wednesday told him.

Pugsley got out of bed. "Okay, so, when did you get all philosophical on me and turn into mother?"

Wednesday's eyes enlarged as she thought about what all that meant. "Oh, no. I've turned into mother?"

"I mean some people might say I've turned into father." Pugsley straightened his back, proudly.

Wednesday scoffed. "Yes, some _blind_ people."

Pugsley deflated and snapped his teeth. "Are we exploring or not?"

Wednesday opened the door. "Come on. And be quiet, will you?" She closed the door, then... right into Pugsley's nose.

She began to walk down the hallway, not noticing. "Alright, so I was thinking we go down to the-" Halfway down the hallway, she finally noticed her brother was missing. She looked around. "Pugsley?" Annoyed, she backtracked. _"Pugsley?"_ She got as far as their guestroom and she opened the door.

There was Pugsley, standing there, holding his probably bleeding nose in pain. He gave her a _what the hell!_ gesture.

Wednesday rolled her eyes and pulled him out of the room. " _God, you're annoying._ Come on."

They walked through the house, not finding anything that would qualify as unusual, which they were a bit disturbed and disheartened by. The house was not nearly as large as what they were accustomed to. The entire place was not even the full size of the Addams' first floor. They grimaced in disgust at the off-putting dog pictures on the wall, and decided to go find the dog and play a game with her.

"I checked the bedroom. She wasn't there." Pugsley said.

"Well, she has to be somewhere." Wednesday continued to walk. She stopped at a mirror and paused, studying her reflection briefly. Everybody in her distant family always said she should wear her hair down more often, as she looked beautiful and too much like her mother without her braids. However, Wednesday never listened to them. She liked her braids and didn't care for anybody else's opinion.

Pugsley thought for a moment. "Kitchen?"

Wednesday nodded and the pair walked into the kitchen. Sure enough, the dog was there. She was eating a steak, careful not to get it on her miniature cashmere nightgown.

Wednesday and Pugsley breathed slowly and softly.

"Alright, when I give the signal, grab her." Wednesday instructed.

"What game are we playing this time?" Pugsley inquired.

"It's called, _Cats Have Nine Lives, What About Dogs?_ " Wednesday answered. "I think it's quite self-explanatory."

Pugsley shook his head. "I don't know what that means."

Wednesday rolled her eyes. A part of her did feel sorry for Pugsley. He was terrible at English for a boy of eight. He could be smart, Wednesday thought. Sometimes. "It means shut up and do what I tell you, Pugsley."

A question popped into young Pugsley's mind as they walked toward the unsuspecting animal. "Wait, what's the signal-"

"Go!" Wednesday whisper-yelled.

"Was that the signal?" Pugsley asked.

Wednesday face-palmed. _"Yes, go!"_

Pugsley did as instructed and ran after the dog. He picked it up but it jumped out of his arms and ran.

"Don't let her get away!" Wednesday called after her brother.

"I won't! Who else are we gonna play with?" Pugsley chased after the dog, Wednesday behind him.

When she was out of sight, the children realized that they were back at square one and tip-toed after the disappearing dog.

This had been going on for quite some time, and Pugsley decided to break the silence.

Pugsley sighed. "Hey, Wednesday?"

Wednesday raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Can I tell you something?" Pugsley asked.

"Fine." Wednesday responded, not at all interested.

Pugsley nodded. "I just feel like sometimes it's really hard, ya know? Like I worry so much about mother and father and even you, even though-"

"Pugsley, shut up." Wednesday commanded.

"Well, that was harsh. I just-"

 _"Shh!"_ Wednesday began to walk toward a loose floorboard, with a large, oddly-shaped foot stool over it. Wednesday moved the stool out of the way. "Press your foot against the floor." She whispered.

Pugsley did so, carefully. Sure enough, it was shaky.

With Wednesday's help, he moved it slightly.

And that was when they saw it. As sight that would alter the course of their lives, from the beginning of their lives. And they did not even know it.

The children saw into the basement. Ophelia was in a pastel blue, lacey-lingerie type nightgown. She wore a white, big, see-through robe with white boa-type fluff lining the sleeves and bottom of it. Her slippers matched the gown.

She was standing over a... something. They could not see everything fully, but it appeared that there was a spell book on a stand, and a small, black pot in front of her. She was angrily stumbling through some kind of spell. Her drive was getting her much further than her pronunciation ever would, and as she read, the liquid in the pot bubbled and changed colour.

Pugsley looked at Wednesday, confused. "What is she doing?"

"Can't you tell? What Máma does. She's reciting a spell. Mother learned it in college but she doesn't practice as often." Wednesday explained.

"Hey, maybe she _is_ part of the family." Pugsley remarked.

Wednesday shook her head, a terrible gut feeling forming in her stomach. "No." Her head refused to stop shaking. "She's doing it wrong."

"But I thought you haven't learned yet?"

Wednesday waved a dismissive hand. "I haven't been _taught_ yet. I learned a little bit, enough to know that one does not pronounce the Latin language like that. And that confidence is key so stumbling screws it up."

Pugsley grew fearful. "What is she saying?"

Wednesday put her ear up to the space and listened, intently. "Reality... Alter... Time... Back... Go..." Everything was getting worse, but with the last word, she made the connection. _"Past."_

Pugsley looked to his older sister. "What about the past?"

"There's no time to explain. We have to wake mother and father." Wednesday hastily put the stool and board back and they stood. "Now."

Pugsley, sensing the urgency in his elder sibling's voice, ran upstairs with her.

They raced to the guest bedroom, but stopped at the door. The children were smart, and knew what their parents got up to. Unfortunately, the youngsters had heard too much and once had seen too much. So, they decided it best to always knock or listen before entering a room they knew their parents were in.

Pugsley watched as Wednesday pressed her ear to the door. "Do you hear anything?" He asked.

"No."

"So... do you think they're asleep?"

Wednesday sighed. "Well, there's only one way to find out."

Pugsley nodded.

"One." Wednesday began.

Pugsley followed her lead. "Two."

 _"Three!"_ They said, in unison.

They opened the door, and thankfully, their parents were indeed asleep.

Gomez protectively held Morticia in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. She looked as though she were dark angel like that, the picture of elegance and happiness in her husband's arms.

Pugsley gently tried to shake them awake. "Mother? Father?" He whispered.

 _"What the hell is that?"_ Wednesday asked, upset. "They're thirty-seven years old, horny and tired! They are _not_ sleeping infants."

"Shh!" Pugsley put a finger to his lips. "We aren't trying to wake them up."

 _"Yes, we are!"_ Wednesday whisper-shouted.

"Oh, yea." Pugsley resumed trying to wake them up, gently.

Morticia then curled up against Gomez even more and he held her tighter. She smiled and whispered his name and the nicknames she called him on a daily as she slept.

Pugsley smiled. "Aww. I love them."

Nearly physically ill, Wednesday replied, "Be quiet, Pugsley."

"Sorry, Wednesday."

Trying to think of something, fast, Wednesday looked at the pillow on the floor, as her parents were sharing one of the couple they were using. "Pugsley, hand me that pillow."

Pugsley eyed the pillow. "Why?"

"Pugsley, hand me the pillow or I will suffocate you while your sleeping, and this time, you will not wake up."

Pugsley gulped and handed Wednesday the pillow.

"Thank you." Instantly, Wednesday began to violently whack Gomez with the pillow until he was jolted awake.

Awakened and startled, Gomez did not register his offspring were even there. He sat up and turned to his side, nervous. _"Tish?"_

When he did find she was alright, he looked down at her beautiful face and sighed in relief, caressing her cheek.

Upon noticing Wednesday and Pugsley, he again grew concerned. "Children, what-"

"Wake up mother." Wednesday commanded.

Gomez wore a confused expression. " _Not_ until-"

"Please, father." Pugsley begged. "It's an emergency."

Gomez nodded. He turned to face his lovely queen of bleakness, and stroked her cheek. "Cara mia..." He always woke her like this and he did not want to startle her.

Wednesday checked an invisible watch, growing impatient.

"My darling, wake up." Gomez said, gently.

Wednesday tapped her foot. _"Father!"_

Gomez _shushed_ her and turned back to Morticia. He kissed her neck.

Wednesday had just about had enough until her mother began to stir.

Satisfied, Gomez watched adoringly as his darling querida's eyes fluttered open.

Morticia turned to him and smiled. "I'm sorry, mon cher." She sat up and snuggled against him, giving a graceful, silent yawn. "I was having a wonderful dream." She eyed him, seductively. "Want to take a swing at what is was?"

Gomez bit his lip and looked into her eyes. "I think I have a guess..." He kissed her.

Wednesday stomped her foot and Morticia turned to see her children.

"Children, what are you doing?" She asked.

 _"Thank God!"_ Wednesday rolled her eyes, then grew serious. "Mother, it's Aunt Ophelia."

Pugsley picked up where Wednesday left off. "She's reciting some spell."

Morticia and Gomez shared a worried expression, and quickly got out of bed.

"Where?" Morticia asked her children and slipped on her black slippers.

Gomez put on his crimson robe over his bare chest and black pajama bottoms.

The children then began to lead their parents out of the bedroom.

"In the basement." Wednesday replied. "She didn't see us. But we saw her."

"What is she doing?" Pugsley inquired as the foursome reached the top of the stairs.

"Shh!" Wednesday scolded. "What if she heard us?"

"She's in the basement." Pugsley defended.

"Yes, she is. And your corpse will be too if you don't shut up."

 _"Wednesday."_ Morticia chastised.

"I'm sorry mother." Wednesday turned to Pugsley. _"Now."_

Morticia's eyes shifted. "Better." She decided.

Within two minutes, the family was tip-toeing down the basement stairs.

Morticia was the first to witness the sight. Her sister was there, in front of a spell book and a bubbling cauldron. As she deciphered the words in her head, she only grew more fearful. But when she heard the words, _Change the past._ , she knew they were in danger.

Morticia stood in front of her family, Gomez beside her and his arms tight around her.

"Ophelia, stop!" Morticia yelled.

Ophelia froze, and turned to see her younger sister, heading the family, strong-willed and dignified. _It. Was. Disgusting._

"Morticia." Ophelia's voice was calm, and the cauldron bubbled behind her. "Did you sleep well?"

"Ophelia, I know what you're doing." Morticia was terrified, but remained poised on the outside. _"Don't."_

"You know what I'm doing?" Ophelia stepped closer to the family. "I can't say I'm surprised. It was you who graduated with an advanced degree in witchcraft, was it not?"

"Children, leave. _Now._ " Morticia instructed, not looking back at them.

"No." Pugsley shook his head. "We're not leaving you-"

 _"Now."_ She ordered. This time, her tone was harsh.

The children knew they had no choice and quickly flew up the stairs. However, when they tried to open the door... it was locked.

"We can't!"

"Listen to your mother, children! She knows more about this than we do." Gomez held Morticia as tight as he could, determined to let nothing happen to his oxygen.

"We'd love to father, but the door is locked!" Wednesday explained, fiddling with the lock.

Gomez and Morticia turned to see that it was indeed locked.

"Stay there, children!" Gomez commanded. "It is very important that you don't move!"

"No matter what happens, stay there! I can't let you two get hurt!" Morticia called to them.

"Yes, mother!" Pugsley squished up against Wednesday, whom was holding both him and herself back from helping their parents.

Gomez and Morticia turned back to the enemy.

 _"Why?"_ Morticia asked.

"Why?" Ophelia sighed, light and airy. "Well, simply put... I hate you." She looked her sister right in her black eyes. "I hate you, with every _fiber of my being_. What you did to me, Morticia... that is _unforgivable_. That is something I cannot sleep at night without thinking about. You stole, _everything_ I ever wanted."

"Ophelia, you didn't want love, or passion and you certainly did _not_ want children. You wanted _money_. And how do I know? You told me so on numerous occasions. _That's_ how I know." Morticia defended herself.

"Yes, I did want money. And what did you take from me?" Ophelia said and paced around a bit.

Morticia refused to play games. "I didn't take anything from you. _Gomez -_ which is all I wanted when I met him- was _never. Yours._ "

 _"Money."_ Ophelia corrected her. " _You. Took. Money._ All that money, Morticia. I could have owned a vault filled with riches the Queen of England could only dream of."

"I would have given you any amount you needed to get on your feet. Hell, I would have invited you and mother to come live with us, if not for what you did."

" _Cut the crap._ I know you wanted passion and adoration, it's all I heard about after mother arranged the marriage." Ophelia waved her hand, dismissively. "Realistically, Morticia, you came into money. You came into a great deal of money. Money, I would have killed for."

Morticia scoffed. "Money you tried to kill for."

Ophelia nodded. "Yes, I admit that I did. But _he,_ " Ophelia eyed Gomez, rage burning in her blue eyes. "Ruined that plan." She sighed, and looked back at her sister. "'Tis money that doth make the world go 'round."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "I highly doubt Shakespeare ever said that."

"Oh, no." Ophelia shook her head. _"It's an original quote, from Ophelia Anastasia Frump."_ She turned back to the potion. "Or should I say _Addams_?"

"You shouldn't." Morticia warned her.

"Well, Morticia, since you know what's going on... care to share?" Ophelia asked.

"You're trying to alter reality. But you're having an awful lot of trouble. That potion is supposed to be _grey_ , dear, not black. And your pronunciation is dreadful."

 _"I hate you."_ Ophelia growled. "And anyway, it will work. I wrote it out phonetically." She said, as if she were the smartest person to walk the earth since Einstein.

Morticia rolled her eyes. Then paused, fully understanding everything. "You wanted the children to find you. Didn't you?"

Ophelia's eyes fixated on Wednesday and Pugsley. "Well, of course."

"You needed Gomez and I here." Morticia clarified, knowing the answer.

"Yes, very good, Morticia. After all, all three of us are a part of this... spell-potion-thing. Whatever you weirdos call it. Besides, I knew if you were anything like you were when you two met, he wouldn't let you come here alone." Ophelia laughed. "It's too pink for you."

"No, you're wrong." Morticia said, angry. "It's too _you_ for me." She spat.

"Uh-huh. Ah, well, no harm done. When I'm through, you won't remember a damn thing. So, I'll let you have this one, Tish." Ophelia smirked.

Gomez blood boiled to its explosion point. _"If you do anything to harm her, so help me_ God, _you will die_ mercilessly _at my hand, you_ wench!" He yelled.

Ophelia feigned offense. "Ouch. That really hurt, darling." She smiled and let her nail trace over the words in the spell book. "After all, that's what I'll be calling you once we get this potion working."

She took a vile from off of the stand and was about to dip it into the potion.

Morticia was now angry, angrier than she had ever been. _"You stay the hell away from my family!"_ She yelled. Then, like a woman possessed, she ran at her sister and jumped on her. Her arms were tight around her neck, choking her. It was giving her a serious sense of deshavu, but this time the blood was going to be on Morticia's hands. She didn't care, she would not let anyone harm Gomez or her children and get away with it.

Ophelia couldn't breath and stumbled back, dropping the vile.

The vile landed with a thud against the cold basement floor and a piece of it broke. A third of it spilled, and Ophelia was furious.

 _"Bitch!"_ She tried to yell, but it came out as a hoarse peep.

 _"Damn right!"_ Morticia released her and both the sisters dove after the vile.

Gomez, meanwhile, grabbed hold of the medium-sized pot, turned makeshift-cauldron and tipped it over, and then every last drop that spilled out was about the equivalent of a gallon of milk. Ophelia really did not know how to make enchantments.

There was a battle, Morticia against Ophelia, struggling to get a hold of the vile.

Ophelia grabbed hold of it, but Morticia pushed her back. On top of her, she punched her and grabbed the vile.

She stood and began to run towards her husband.

However, Ophelia attacked her from behind, and wrestled her to the ground. She grabbed the vile and pinned Morticia's arms behind her back. "This is because of you! You took everything from me!" Ophelia drank half of what was in the vile. _"See how it feels."_

Afraid, the children disobeyed and ran down the stairs to help.

Gomez darted towards the pair and grabbed Ophelia, prying her off of his darling one.

He released her once pried off, and ran to Morticia, praying she was alright. He helped her to her feet, and stood in front of her, her arms now, around him.

Ophelia tucked the vile in her bra and opened a compartment in the stand. "Oh, no, Gomez." She shook her head, her nightgown, torn and her hair, disheveled. "Not this time." With those words, she aimed a gun at Morticia. "Remember that ultimatum I gave you that morning in my room?"

Morticia looked at her husband, confused. "Gomez, what is she talking about?"

Afraid, Gomez froze. Everyone froze.

"Tish, do you remember the talk we decided I should have with Ophelia the morning after I proposed?" Gomez asked.

Morticia nodded. "Yes."

Ophelia picked the story back up. "I told him he had two choices. He could come to his senses and marry me, or I could destroy everything he loves. Well, he told me I couldn't do that. Because everything he loved..." She gave a fake smile at Morticia. _"Was you."_

Nobody moved or spoke, so Ophelia continued. "Well, perhaps I didn't deliver on my end for quite some time... but today, I am." She fired the gun at the wall.

Morticia did not even jump, but inside her heart was racing.

"Just to show you it's got bullets." Ophelia blew the smoke off of her gun, which was bedazzled at the bottom with pink gems, and aimed it back at Morticia.

Morticia looked at the gun, a bit bemused. "You bedazzled your _gun_?"

"Well, twenty years gives you quite a bit of free time." Ophelia explained. "Now, shut up." Then, using, one hand, Ophelia held up the vile, half of its contents remaining. She turned to Gomez. "Gomez, I have a new ultimatum for you. Tell me what you think. Drink this, and she lives. Don't drink it..." She cocked the gun. "And she dies."

Gomez looked at his darling wife, whom was now visibly upset.

She was shaking her head, _no_ , trying to stop him.

"Hand me the vile." Gomez nodded.

Ophelia, still aiming her gun, slowly walked over to Gomez. She handed him the vile.

"Gomez, don't do it." Morticia was begging. "Darling, _please_."

Tears welled up in his eyes. "Cara mia, _I love you._ I love you more than _anything_ or _anyone_ in this world."

"Gomez..." Silent tears were falling down Morticia's face now. _"Please."_

Gomez shook his head, now also in tears. "Tish, my heart beats for you. Without you, I cannot live."

 _"Nor I without you, darling. Please, mon cher, don't do it. I can't lose you. You're my_ air _."_ Morticia had never been in such a state of panic.

Gomez turned her to face him, and looked her in her black eyes. " _You. Will. Never. Ever. Lose me._ I can promise you, come heaven or highwater, I will always be there with you and for you."

Morticia shook her head. "Not if you don't remember me." She cried. "That's what this thing does, Gomez. You can't love me if you don't remember everything we have."

Gomez kissed her hands. "I will always love you." He told her. "It will come to me." He said, with full confidence. "And so will you."

Ophelia laughed. "I highly doubt that. That spell... it'll take care of her."

Morticia put a hand to her mouth, hurting so bad her heart probably exploded. "Promise me, you won't ever leave me." Morticia, shaking, commanded.

Gomez kissed her hand, atop her wedding ring. "I promise, cara mia."

"Je t'aime." Morticia wanted to scream, but her voice was barely a whisper. The minute she said that, the potion had been swallowed... and Gomez fell down, passed out.

She gasped, terrified and fell to the floor with him, his head in her lap.

Ophelia did not look too happy anymore and turned back to her spell book. "Oh, no." She flipped the page. _"Oh, shit! Fuck, damn it all to hell!"_ She quickly began to speak in Latin, but was pronouncing the words all wrong. She had realized an entire paragraph of the spell... had not been recited. _"Jesus Christ!"_ She quickly tried to gather the liquid on the floor into the broken vile, but nothing came of it. Calmly, she gathered herself and began to recite the spell from the beginning, a thick, light purple-grey fog now spreading throughout the basement.

Pugsley and Wednesday ran to their mother and she used her free hand to hold them.

"Is father alright?" Pugsley asked.

Morticia shook her head. "No, darling, he isn't. And neither are we." She said, honestly.

"Mother, is this _Sensus Inversus_?" Wednesday asked.

Morticia looked at her daughter, confused. "How do you know about the _Distorted Perception_ enchantment? That's college level witchcraft."

Wednesday watched as the fog enveloped the room. "I snuck into the library and took some of yours and Máma's books."

Morticia sighed. "Good girl, Wednesday." She looked around the basement, in tears and then back down at her husband, who had just given up everything for her, without a second thought.

"Mother, I'm scared." Pugsley admitted.

"It's going to be alright, my little vermin. I promise." Morticia was both convincing herself and her children. She turned to them. "Remember the story I told you the night before we boarded the plane?"

The children nodded.

"Did you like it?"

"Yea, I thought it was nice to hear about an accurate depiction of a witch for once."

Morticia nodded, getting her breathing under control and holding her little devils close. "I made it up."

"You did?" Wednesday asked.

Morticia nodded. "Yes. Now, darlings... how's about you listen to that story, hmm?" The fog silently swirled around the room, making nearly everything purple-gray.

They nodded, afraid and got as close to their mother as possible.

Morticia cleared her throat, and sighed, looking down at her husband, a few tears still making their way down her porcelain cheeks. "Once there was a beautiful, old witch. She had long fingernails and sewed her clothing out of the finest fishnet and rags one could find. She was tall, and thin with sapphire eyes and curly brown hair. She wore rings galore each day. She was also, the kingdom's most trusted advisor. Her name was Eudora.

"She lived with her daughter, whom bared a striking resemblance to her. She was tall, and lithe. Her nails were always painted black, and her skin was a bit paler than her mother's."

The fog made noise now as it circled around the room, and grew darker. The noise was of screaming wind.

Morticia yelled the words, as gently as she could. "She wore elegant, dark, gothic dresses and she too, had an aphanite for rings. All she ever wanted in life was to learn as much magick as her mother. Oh, if only it were that easy. The young witch was easily sidetracked. She loved to paint and sing, and even write. Her name was Alice.

"However, Alice's mother was stubborn and strict. She wanted not for Alice to spend her time socializing or painting. She usually let it go, but one day she caught Alice with a boy. As a result, she stripped Alice of all of her freedoms, and locked her up in the attic."

It grew cold, and Wednesday's teeth were chattering. "Sounds reasonable." She said, upset and for the first time, holding Pugsley's hand.

"Well, one would think so. But the problem was that Alice was being forced into a life she didn't want. She was not given food, and hardly given anything to drink. She vowed to show her mother that stripping a girl of all freedoms, and watching her every move, and taking away everything she loves, would not make her love her or want to be like her. She vowed to tell the king of the abuse she was suffering, because once the king found out..." She shouted so loud, it startled her sister, whom was ready to pass out from the potion. _"She would be done for!"_

That was it, then. Morticia kissed her sleeping husband, and soon, fell asleep herself. As she did, the fog swirled around the room and enveloped it... and soon did away with it.

Visions, almost lucid dreams played out in the eyes of every person in the family. They saw it all. Morticia, driving away from the Addams mansion at eighteen, tears in her eyes. Kitty was nowhere to be found, and wedding bells chimed in the background. A nineteen-year-old Ophelia was happily marrying a not-so-happy-looking Gomez, and the cemetery was hideous. It was decorated in white, and floral. It was atrocious. Life played out like a sadistic fairytale mixed with a disgusting horrour film. Ophelia, re-decorating the house to her tastes, Morticia moving away from everyone and finishing college with her private tutours in a small apartment. Ophelia, in the hospital bed, and screaming, whilst Gomez was holding her hand, and she birthed... a baby girl. Two years later, she did the same, with a little boy. And then, a funeral of some sort... an elderly woman in the coffin. Everyone in the Frump and Addams family attended, all except for Morticia. She was gone. It got worse and worse, as the children grew and were raised in an environment filled with daisies and mainstream fashion, and unreal happiness. The young boy was enrolled in the Little League, while the beautiful, petite young girl was enrolled in dance. Everything spun around in their brains and before their eyes as though they were in the middle of a raging cyclone. The P.T.A. meetings, the baseball games, the pink tutu-infested dance recitals and Gomez... looking so different, and so... dead. And for the love of God, where was Morticia? Soon, the eye of the storm came, and everyone's visions drifted apart to the _Sensus Inversus_.

And then Morticia's eyes fluttered open.


	5. Sensus Inversus

Mrs. Addams pumped her fist in the air, as the overcast weather turned to that of a bright, sunny day.

She was thirty-eight, and nearly five foot seven. She was skinny, good-looking for having had two kids, and had fair, white skin. Her bright blue eyes sparkled like the stars and the ocean themselves. Her sunny, golden blonde hair was in a curly bob. She wore white jean shorts, ankle boots, a white, jean jacket and a yellow tank top. "Hit the ball, Peter!" She yelled.

Ophelia Addams and her family were observing Peter's first baseball game of the season, and it had started extremely early in the morning, at 10:00 am for some odd reason. Yes, September 13th was a bit of a late start, but the coach's wife had had a baby.

"You can do it, Peter!" Wendy cheered.

Wendy bared a striking resemblance to her mother. She was ten years old, and merely five foot. She was a petite girl with fair skin, like her mother and brown eyes. She presumably got her eyes from her father, however they were a bit darker. For some reason, Ophelia always hated her daughter's eyes. Wendy's hair was long, down to her upper back and the same shade of golden blonde as Ophelia's. She wore it in a French braid, most often, and today, pushed over her right shoulder. She wore blue, high-waisted jean shorts, a white tank and a denim jacket with neat-looking brown combat boots.

Eight-year-old Peter winked and whacked the ball, hitting a winning homerun. "That was for you!" He called to his family in the stands, and took of his red baseball cap which read, _Little League_ on it.

He was merely four foot ten, and a chubby boy. He had brown eyes, like his sister, and light brown hair. He had on his baseball outfit, which had white pants with red stripes and a red T-shirt. The shirt read, _Mockrage Macaws_ on the front, with the signature logo of a colourful macaw wearing a hat that matched Peter's. On the back of the shirt, was _Addams 13_.

Peter grinned and looked out at the now standing crowd. The only one who was not standing was his father. However, after Ophelia subtly grabbed him, he stood and clapped acted as though everything were fine. Peter hoped it was. Today was a special day, he won the game!

Gomez was thirty-seven, and six foot two. He was muscular, with olive skin and brown eyes. His hair was black, and wavy. He had not slicked it back or really done much to it in nearly twenty years. His clothing was neatly casual, but still as dark, as dark as his heavily concealed broken black heart was. He wore dark blue jeans, a black shirt, dark brown boots and a black jacket. His eyes glazed over his gold wedding ring and fixated on his black Rolex watch. 12:30. The game had been pain-steaking slow. It isn't that he didn't support his children. But why baseball? In the sun? He sighed. It had been years since... well, it didn't matter anyways. This was his life, and he should have gotten used to it by now. And in most ways, he was.

"Yea, Peter!" The family cheered.

After the baseball game, Wendy had to be rushed to dance. So, they headed into their big, white, S.U.V. which -he reminisced- Gomez and his friends used to call the _mom car_. Nobody ever thought he would someday own one.

Ophelia was about to walk into the passenger seat of the car when Linda, a petite, blonde woman of very high social standing, and Ophelia's long-time friend, walked over to her with her little boy, Thomas.

"Thomas just wanted to congratulate Peter, Ophelia." Linda flashed a smile, showcasing her pearly whites.

Ophelia gave a small nod and a smile of her own in return. "Well, thank you, Linda. He practices so much, he should be good." She paused, then poked her head into the car. "Gomez, dear, get out here. It's Linda and Michael!"

"Thomas." Linda corrected, politely.

"Whatever." Ophelia half-joked and gestured for her husband to get out of the car.

Gomez put on a smile and obliged, stepping out of the car and walking over to his wife. He kissed Linda's hand, which caused Ophelia to flash him a jealous look.

Sighing, Gomez wrapped his arm around Ophelia's waist, openly telling the world how much he tried to convince himself he loved her.

Satisfied, Ophelia smiled.

Linda chuckled. "You two are so sweet together. It's like it's only been a day."

Ophelia and Gomez smiled at each other.

"Almost twenty years." Ophelia said, lathering on the nostalgia in her voice.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Linda." Gomez nodded. He then paused and waved at the boy. "Hello, Thomas. How are you?"

"I'm great! I'm going to Disney World next weekend!" Thomas replied, happily.

Linda squeezed Thomas' shoulders. "Well, we had to. After all, he is doing so well and school. He's skipping two grades."

Ophelia looked back at the car, briefly. "Yes, our Peter is doing quite well, too."

"Really?" Linda questioned. "So, he's doing better in English?"

"He was doing fine in English before." Ophelia said, a hint of defense in her voice.

"Was he?" Linda paused. "That isn't what I heard." She said in a sing-song voice.

"Oh, and how about little Rosie in dance?" Ophelia changed the subject. "I felt so bad when I heard she lost her last competition."

Linda straightened her back. "Mmm... yes. But, it wasn't her fault."

"Well, I heard the routine wasn't fully run through..." Ophelia's voice trailed off.

Linda looked a bit concerned, and sighed. "Look, we're going to keep all this under wraps, alright?"

Ophelia nodded. "Alright."

"Don't tell the girls?" Linda asked.

Ophelia got into the car. "Of course not." She smiled, then and closed the car door and waved to her friend.

Gomez started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot of the ball park.

Then, while driving down the road, he watched as Ophelia used the car phone and dialed a number.

Ophelia took a deep breath and waited until one of the girls from her high society, elite social group answered. "Hello? Donna? _Guess. What?_ "

Over thirty-five-hundred miles away, in an 800-sq. ft. apartment in Paris, France, Morticia awakened.

She looked around the bedroom she found herself in. It had a hardwood floor, black, gothic wallpaper and a black ceiling. There was a blood-coloured vanity and a large bookshelf with a number of spell books on it. To the far right was a walk-in closet. The door was of dark brown wood and had a skull-shaped knob. And the window was large, with black curtains. There was more, but Morticia was not coherent enough to register it.

Everything was quite hazy in Morticia's mind, and she did not even register anything that had happened. The waterbed had bedsheets that matched the colour of the vanity, and was very large.

She got herself out of bed and walked out of her bedroom.

Before she could do anything else, the doorbell rang.

As if following a routine, like she knew this apartment she was in, she walked to the door and opened it.

There stood a skinny young man, probably no more than eighteen years old. He was wearing a red polo shirt, skinny jeans and a hat that read, _Coin de Paradis_. The boy was carrying a small pizza box.

"Madame Frump?" He spoke.

At his words, everything hit Morticia so hard, the Rocky Mountains very well may have collapsed on top of her. She remembered life before, everything before. Gomez, and her children, and Ophelia. She remembered what Ophelia did, and her anger was ready to explode out of her. But where were they? She couldn't remember where she was, why she was not with them, and why was there a pizza man at the door of an apartment she did not even know was hers?

Without thinking, Morticia slammed the door in his face and leaned against it, confused and needing to get her bearings. Slowly, breathing heavily, she slid down the door and brought her knees to her chest.

"Alright." She began to say to herself. "Everything is alright. Everything is-"

No. Nothing was alright, not at all. Right when she looked down, all she saw was white fabric.

She gasped and ran into the bathroom.

Her bathroom had deep indigo walls, and had a gothic, indigo and black sort-of theme to it.

She studied her reflection, and screamed so loud that all of the birds near the apartment building fled from their nests, afraid.

She got her breathing under control and could not stop staring at whatever the hell she was wearing. Thank God, she looked the same. She still looked very good for a woman of thirty-seven, and had her lithe yet curvy figure, with her long legs and height of five foot nine. She was just as ghostly pale, and her eyes were still as dark brown. Her straight, silky midnight black hair still cascaded down to her upper back, beautifully. But she wore a long, low-cut and flowing white gown with long, cold-shoulder sleeves. Her shoes were five inches high, and glittering white high heels. Her nails were painted white and she wore little makeup.

She stood there, gripping the sink, stunned and tried so hard to remember where Ophelia sent her, and her family, and what life was like now that Sensus Inversus had set in. But she couldn't. All she could remember was before, and she kicked herself for ever being so foolish as to be lured to her sister's in the first place.

She decided that she had to put all of the pieces together, fast. She thought it best to take a tour of her apartment, and see just where she was at in life, and why if everything looked alright, she was in this horrid outfit.

Morticia first walked out of her bathroom and down her hall. The walls were very dark-coloured and looked like they came from a gothic mansion. There was even a black chandelier hanging from the ceiling. From the hall she walked into her living room. The living room had black walls with a lighter black pattern on them. The walls were designed to look as though blood were dripping from them at the top. There was a black leather couch in front of a television, and a polar bear skin rug under the couch. The floor was of dark brown wood. The window was large, and its curtains were crimson. The living room openly led into the kitchen. The kitchen was a black with dark brown wooden cupboards and cabinets, and a silver refrigerator.

She didn't understand how it was possible that her apartment screamed her name but her dress screamed, _help me, I've lost myself._

"Alright." Morticia said to herself. "It's clear that I didn't lose my sense of style." She sat down on the leather couch, grimacing at the outfit. She decided she would chalk the incident up to Ophelia's fuck-up. She remembered it now, that blasted spell. She skipped an entire paragraph. Perhaps that was why she remembered?

"Whatever it is," she sighed. "None of it is looking good, or terribly bleak." She put her head in her hands, and stayed like that for a few minutes, thinking.

Finally, she got up and walked into one room she had not checked out. It was a back room, and did not have much done to it. The walls were black, and the floor was dark wood, as usual. There was no furniture except for an air mattress, a mahogany desk and a matching chair. On the desk was a typewriter, and letters she had written, but never sent. Adjacent to those letters, were letters sent, but unanswered.

"Ah, there we are." Morticia walked to the desk and sat down. She picked up the letter on the very bottom of the stack, and began to read.

 _Dearest Morticia,_

 _I understand that you've decided to move to Paris, and finish school, and move on. But, my darling, you must know that I have not moved on, not in the slightest. I am lost without you, Tish. I truly am. I didn't want to marry Ophelia, please know that. Unfortunately, under those circumstances... I did. I did and I hated every. God blessed. Part of it. I love you, and I am so sorry if these letters cause you pain or annoyance, or both. I just want you to come back to Massachusetts, please. I... there is so much I want to say to you, darling, but I can't. I won't give up, I refuse. All I ask is that you please write back... I need to hear from you._

 _-Unfortunately Ophelia's,_

 _Gomez._

She wanted to scream, but instead, she let a couple of tears fall and massaged her temples, trying to get a grip on things. "Oh, God, Gomez..." She looked up. "What have I done?"

She read letter after letter, and Gomez seemed to go from begging her to come home 24/7 to writing to her as though she were a friend. An invisible friend, who never once wrote back because of how painful it was. However, he did not give up trying to convince her to come home, even if it was not as often. He did not give up trying to win her back, until seventeen years ago... his and Ophelia's anniversary. It used to be the anniversary of Gomez and Morticia. Not anymore.

She realized, in horrour, that she had not seen, spoken to, or heard from Gomez in that long. And more than that, -and this made her blood boil- Ophelia had birthed _her_ children. What if Gomez had accepted it? Accepted life without her? What if, heaven and hell forbid, he had fallen for Ophelia?

Well, that was not going to happen. By God, that was not going to happen.

 _Goodbye, Tish_ , was how the very last letter had ended.

"No." Morticia shook her head and stood up. "I will be damned if I lose him to that wretch."

She then walked into her bedroom, deciding that she should ready herself to rescue her lover, and her children.

In her closet, she found dresses resembling what she typically wore, only not as expensive. However, that didn't bother her. She used to make a lot of her own clothes anyway, so well that she could sell them for a high price. Morticia figured at least half of the things in her closet were probably originals.

However, she fixed her eyes on one dress. One dress that she hadn't worn in years. However, it was there. In the flesh, and oh how, was it beautiful.

She took it out of her closet, and slipped off her weird, white outfit, ready to burn it in a fire. The beautiful dress she now held in her hands, was the first thing Gomez had ever seen her in. She wore it to Balthazar's funeral. She remembered that day well. Gomez was still a suspect in the murder, of course she hadn't learned that until the night she snuck into his house and told him she was going to be arrested.

She walked out of that car, and put the leash on Kitty (whom was now nearly twenty-two years old, and although he should be nearing the end of his life, was still active and hungry and adorable). She walked up to the tall, dark and handsome, Gomez Addams. He did not just take her breath away, he took it and never gave it back, for almost twenty years and counting. He kissed her hand, and he looked at her with those deliciously large, dark brown, half-lidded eyes and his gaze... it was adoring, adoring and loving and slightly hungry. Oh, and did that gaze only intensify as the years passed.

The black, gothic dress was long, and swept the floor. It was tight, mainly at the waist, and had a slit in the side up to her lower thigh. It was low-cut in a V-neck down to the middle of the crease in her breasts.

Thankfully, her bra and panties were still black. So she laid the dress on the bed and searched for black tights in the black dresser near the window.

She had them, and in her closet, she found the same shoes. They were completely black, three-inch-high heels with ankle straps.

She lied everything out on the bed, and turned on the record player atop the dresser. Marilyn Manson began to play. Morticia thought it would suffice, as she happened to enjoy his music, and she quickly walked into the bathroom. There, she jumped into the shower.

A quite literal montage played out. Music blaring, Morticia showered and painted her nails on her bed. Her toenails were painted black, and her nails were blood red. She had to do it. She wanted to get to her family fast, but she knew that they had lived out their lives without her, and she could not just waltz in and make everybody believe her. She had to learn, and she had to wait. And if there was one thing Morticia Andora... Frump, could do well, it was self-control.

She dawned her outfit, slipping into it perfectly, and did her makeup. Her dark and matching eye makeup, her crimson lipstick, and her black, dangling diamond earrings were magnificently paired with her outfit. And after she finished brushing her long, silky hair, she stared in the mirror.

"Oh my God." It was little more than a whisper, the words she said. But they meant a great deal. She was transported back to twenty years ago, when she met him and they spent their first night together. Right after she promised the rest of her life to him, the clock struck midnight. They loved eachother the moment their eyes met.

Gomez was the only man besides her father, who ever truly cared for her. He loved her, he adored her. She had never known anyone again, besides her father who truly would die for her. Die. For. Her. Killing for someone, in Morticia's opinion, was not extremely hard. She had never done it. But when you love someone that much, you would do anything to protect them. But dying for someone, that was... an easy thing to claim, but not an easy thing to mean. And Gomez did.

He had no idea what that potion would do, but he drank it up, not questions asked, to save her. Her life was on the line, and Gomez knew it. So, he proved that he would do anything for her, even though she already knew he would. But, God, oh God, she wished he had never drank that potion. She wished that she had not been so callus. But, there was no use wishing and hoping. Gomez was not gone, just not here. And while that killed her, what revived her was knowing that he was not lost to her forever, and that she would do whatever it took to get him back. She would die for him, as he would for her, and now... well, if she had to kill, she would.

Morticia got up from her vanity and began to pack two suitcases. She packed a month's worth of her finest clothes and a few pairs of shoes. Then, she packed all of her essentials. The suitcases were plain black with a chain handle, stylish.

She felt a strong, almost heavy, stinging feeling in her heart and something told her to look under the bed. With nothing to lose, she did. And that was when she found it. The box. The box that had lured her to her sister's house, the box that had a key, lost, the box... that her father wanted her to have.

Morticia found the key in a drawer in her vanity, and safely tucked both the box and key in her black, gothic carry-on bag.

Before she walked out of her bedroom, she looked in the corner of her room. She had not noticed it before, but on a table, near the window... was a tank. And in that tank, she noticed, was a black and blood red, snake.

She walked over to the tank and read what was painted at the top aloud. "Crimson." She smirked. "What a lovely name." Morticia took the snake, which was a small python, out of the tank and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Comfortable, she was, and she gave a light hiss.

"Well aren't you adorable?" Morticia sighed. "Now, I _have_ to take you with me. Come on." She said, as if the thing really had an option.

She removed Crimson from her shoulders and dawned her black, gothic, velvet cloak that looked very similar to the one which she had owned before the shitstorm that fell upon her, upon all of them. The only difference was that there were subtle pentagrams and witch symbols on this one.

She readjusted her snake and began to walk to the kitchen. "Alright. Now all that's left to do is find some money."

Once in the kitchen, Morticia found a black cat-designed cookie jar labeled _Savings_. She thanked this distorted perception version of herself, as in the jar, was twenty thousand dollars.

Hanging on the door was a black, gothic purse, with spikes on the rim and velvet witch symbols on it. She grabbed it and reached inside. There was a key to her apartment, a key to her car, makeup essentials, and a black, coffin-shaped wallet.

Without hesitation, she put the money in her wallet and held her purse, tight.

Picturesque and head high, Morticia walked out of the apartment.

When she did, she found the pizza boy. He had been standing there for what was between three and four hours.

"Hey." He said, nonchalantly.

"Hello, young man." Morticia handed him a few dollars. "There, for your trouble. Now, I really must be going. I have to get to the airport." She began to walk off. "Keep the pizza!" She called to him.

"Merci!" The boy waved.

"Pas de quoi!" Morticia waved back and walked to the elevator.

She found a businessman and an elderly woman in the elevator, and noticed that her apartment was on the sixth floor.

She pressed floor one and thankfully, that is where the man and woman were going as well.

The elderly woman backed against the wall. "Oh, ma parole." She put a hand to her heart, having said _Oh my word_.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

The woman pulled a bible out of her ugly, colour-clashing floral purse. She stood in front of Morticia, whom towered over the small lady, and shook it at her. "Au nom de notre seigneur et sauvuer, je vous oblige, diable! Restez!"

Morticia was not surprised. She had unsurprisingly been called the devil and compelled to stay back in the name of somebody's lord and savior a few times before.

She sighed. "Madame, je ne suis pas le diable." Morticia had informed the woman that in fact, she was not the devil.

As the elevator descended, the businessman then spoke. "Tu aurais pu me tromer." _You could have fooled me,_ he had said.

Morticia smiled, as the man did not realize how much of a compliment she took that as. "Merci. Cependant, si j'étais le diable, je pense que je serais beaucoup moins enthousiaste." She had assured the man that if indeed she were the devil, she would be a bit more intimidating. She was a caring person, but she did enjoy scaring people who couldn't be respectful. While she was flattered, she knew both of them were being obnoxious. She was not dumb, she knew the man's intentions.

The man and woman backed as far away as possible, and not soon after, floor one was reached.

Mysterious and unmoving, Morticia waited for them to exit the elevator.

They did, and Morticia followed suit.

But, the woman, not through with her yet, walked right up to her and looked her up and down.

Morticia froze, waiting.

The woman just kept staring, as if she were looking at a zoo animal.

"Boo."

The woman, startled, walked away and Morticia carried on.

She walked through the lobby and out the revolving doors, straight outside to overcast weather. She felt a few rain drops looked up at the exterior of the building. It was brown, and had to be fifteen stories.

She then attempted to find her car in the large parking lot, using her knowledge of herself and her car keys.

Ten minutes passed, and soon, she did find it. It was black, and elegant-looking. Morticia had obviously taken good care of it. It looked almost brand-new, and had leather seats.

Morticia put her luggage into the back seat and shoved the key into the ignition.

As the rain began to fall harder, Morticia pulled out of the parking lot, briefly looking down at Crimson.

"Alright, mon amour..." She began to drive, remarkably well for never having remembered driving on the different side of the road. "I'm on my way."


	6. Gone with the Winter

Morticia 's car pulled into the large airport parking lot. The rain had stopped on the forty-five-minute drive there, but she did not let it upset her.

As it was still cold, she put up the hood of her cloak and grabbed her luggage. Then, she walked up to the revolving doors of the _Ville de Lis Aéroport_.

Morticia did like this airport much better than the one back at home. This airport had many people who looked depressed, or unhappy. Many were rushing, trying to get somewhere and paying little mind to anybody else. And thank God, no Bible study group.

The airport was elaborate, with a porcelain floor and walls depicting the French Revolution. Unfortunately, there weren't many depictions of the beheadings. Morticia noticed that the seats for the waiting areas were black, and leather. The airport was very neat and had many small shops and stations for souvenirs and food. The tables, however, were an out-of-place purple, and looked as though they belonged in an eccentric, wealthy widow's garden.

She walked through the busy airport until she came to a desk. There, she stepped up to the skinny young woman. The smile she plastered on screamed, _I love my job._ But Morticia thought that it was a bit forced.

"Bonjour, Madame. Comment puis-je vous aider?" The woman asked. She then studied the appearance of the woman standing before her, and was taken aback, and slightly frightened. She held back a gulp.

Morticia was very tired, and decided that she could let herself speak English if she could. "Parle-vous anglais?" Morticia inquired, politely.

"Yes." The woman nodded. "How may I help you?"

"I'd like the next and quickest flight to Ivorybrooke, Massachusetts, please." Morticia replied.

"Well, the soonest flight is in three days, the sixteenth of September."

Morticia sighed. "I'm sorry, dear, but I have to get on a plane today. Are you sure there isn't any availability on a sooner flight?"

"Yes." The woman nodded. "Not here."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

The woman's eyes enlarged when she realized her error. "Nothing."

Morticia knew she was lying. "Madame, is there a plane close by that is departing for Massechusetts today?"

The woman nodded, knowing Morticia was indeed persistant. "Qui. The plane is on its last leg, the pilot doesn't even work here."

Morticia shook her head. "That will be lovey, thank you."

"I wasn't joking." The young woman warned

Morticia fixated her eyes on the very soul of the poor girl, and very calmly, said, "Neither am I."

The woman gulped, and called the pilot on the black phone near the desk. "Hello? Monseiur Blood? Qui. You have a... passenger."

Morticia paused when she heard a roaring laughter in the background.

The woman gave a shake of the head, as if this Mr. Blood could see her. "No, Monsieur, I'm serious."

There was a round of silence, then words that Morticia couldn't hear.

"Alright, I will tell her." The woman hung up, and reluctantly looked at Morticia. "There is an exit, out the back. Walk straight and make two lefts. Then, you should see it." She explained.

Morticia nodded. "Thank you."

The woman was still recovering from several bad shocks. "Bonne chance." Her voice was shaky.

Morticia gave a small smile. "Merci." With this, she began to walk towards the back-exit doors.

"And this..." Ophelia gestured to her last outfit of the impromptu fashion show, showcasing her fall collection of expensive outfits. "Is the last one, my personal favourite."

Ophelia was wearing a dress (of course). It was high-low and in a sweetheart neckline. It had long, cut-out sleeves and was rose pink. It had silk over it, which was had floral designs all over it. She wore with it, a silver ring with a pink diamond designed rose atop it, and an ankle bracelet that matched. Her shoes were rose pink, and open-toed with ankle straps. Her nails were in a French manicure, as were her toenails. Her makeup was natural, and her lipstick was pink. She wore a pearl necklace.

Linda, Donna, Gail and Suzanne _oh'd_ and _ah'd_ at the dress. The five women -Ophelia included- were the _it_ women in Briarwood, Massachusetts. They were the most elite, rich and highest in social standing. Of course, Ophelia was the richest of all of them. She had wealth that they could only dream of, and a husband to match.

Gail, a skinny, thirty-seven-year-old, red-haired woman with slightly tan skin sipped her tea. She had a fifteen-year-old daughter whom had a scholarship to Harvard, and was sixteen years married to the most respected surgeon in Mockrage. "I like this, Ophelia."

Donna, blonde, brown-eyed, tall and thirty-nine years of age, nodded in agreement. She was married to a preacher, whom was payed more than most doctors by the church, and had three children. They were triplets, all thirteen. There were two boys, and they were to follow in their father's footsteps. She birthed one girl, and that girl was going to go to school to be a college professor in science. "Yes, dear. Rose is very in this year."

Ophelia smiled. "Yes, I know." She twirled. "Can you guess who had it made for me?"

Suzanne, forty, and short with large breast augmentations and a butt to match, blue eyes and brown, big hair rolled her eyes, jokingly. She wore elaborate outfits, and if makeup was her partner, Botox was her not-so-secret lover. She had been married three times, and was now on her third husband, a respected radiologist. She was swimming in alimony money from one husband, and rolling in inheritance money from another (dead, mysteriously). "Your butler?" She had a southern belle accent.

Linda, thirty-eight, Ophelia's age, had married a Major League baseball player, whom was also the coach of the Mockrage Macaws. Thomas was her son, and he had a promising future in baseball, but was going to college to be an orthodontist. She raised her eyebrows. "Please, Suzanne. We all know it was that darling husband of hers." She took a sip of her tea.

Ophelia laughed, lightly and took a seat on the chair near the four women.

The Addams' second-floor-living-room was grand in size. It had neat-looking hardwood floors, and ivory walls. They had a white boarder. There was a large window with gold and white curtains, which were drawn on sunny days like today. There was a Queen Anne chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a flat screen television in front of their classy, gold and green couch, imported from England, a gift from the queen, herself. There were five cream-coloured chairs set up in the corner, near the window, where the women sat. And, there was a mahogany coffee table with the pink and white tea set on it. There was honey, cream and lumps of sugar which lie neatly next to the tea set. The table was placed in the middle of the chairs around it.

Ophelia stirred her tea. "He _is_ a dear." She replied.

"Yes, he is." Linda agreed.

"How do you do it?" Suzanne asked. "Between us, of course." She added, quickly.

"Do what?" Ophelia inquired.

"Have that cute little spark. I mean, you can't hide it. We see it all of the time at the functions, the games, the P.T.A. meetings." Suzanne explained.

"He always has his arm around you." Gail continued.

Ophelia was going to respond. "Well, I-"

"And you get that jealous look on your face every time he kisses another lady's hand." Donna chimed in.

Ophelia nearly spit out her tea. "Now, Donna, I haven't a jealous bone in my body."

 _"Mmm-hmm."_ Donna looked away.

"I hear you're going to Hawaii over the children's winter break." Suzanne changed the topic of conversation.

"Yes, we are." Ophelia smiled, broadly. "We take two trips every year. One with the family and one..." She sighed. "Just us."

"Aww!" The girls squealed in unison.

"And Hawaii is...?" Linda inquired.

"Hawaii is us. The two of us. He told me when I turned thirty-nine, my last birthday. That's when he bought me this necklace." Ophelia explained.

"It's beautiful, Ophelia." Donna remarked.

Suzanne pursed her lips. "How much?"

"Oh, about a thirty-five thousand." Ophelia replied, nonchalantly.

Gomez put on his public face, and walked into the living room. He wore his brown trench coat. "I'm glad you like it, darling." He smiled as all the girls looked up and welcomed him into the room. He loved her, he had the entire town convinced, and even himself, for the most part. Hell, maybe... maybe he even convinced Ophelia.

"Yes, me too." Ophelia replied.

Gomez approached the chair Ophelia sat at and kissed her hand, the passionate half-facade working.

"Wish I could get my husband to take me to Hawaii." Gail remarked.

Ophelia shrugged. "I guess I just got lucky."

"Mmm..." Gail sipped her tea.

Gomez held Ophelia's hand and looked at the other four women. "How are you ladies this evening?"

"Wonderful, Gomez, thank you." Suzanne smiled. "And yourself?"

Ophelia subtly eyed her husband, expectantly.

Unnoticeably abrupt, Gomez responded. "Oh, I couldn't be better. Unfortunately, I cannot stay. I have a meeting with Tully today and he'd rather we meet at his home office this time."

"Honestly, Gomez, you shouldn't let that lawyer of yours send you here and there. Really, _you_ pay _him_." Donna put her two-sense in.

"Oh, it isn't any trouble, Donna-"

"Yes, it is." Ophelia interjected, carelessly. "I can't stand that lawyer of ours. Always hounding us to start some weird retirement fund for _you know who_."

The words cut through Gomez. _You know who_ , being his long-lost elder brother. But he said nothing and instead clenched his teeth. He loved her. He loved her. Yes, of course he did. He had to. Yes. He loved her, there you go, old man!

"Uh huh." The ladies all nodded in false understanding and sipped their tea, in unison.

"Yes, I am always telling Gomez to get rid of him." Ophelia patted his hand. "Aren't I, dear?"

Gomez nodded. "Yes, you are. But I can't seem to-"

"Let him go, I know." Ophelia laughed, mostly to show off to the girls. "You can't be a pushover, Gomez."

The ladies said nothing, simply continued smiling and drinking their tea.

"I'm not a pushover, Ophelia. Tully and I simply have history."

Ophelia stiffened. "Yes, well, we don't want you to be late for your meeting." She had made a mental note to have a talk with Mr. Addams later.

Gomez kissed her goodbye and bid the ladies farewell. Then, he stepped into the slightly chilly September day.

He started the white van and adjusted his mirrors. Then, he looked at his reflection. He smiled. It was fine. Day by day, night by night, minute by minute... he was pulling through, and succeeding. He loved her.

Worlds away, Morticia walked out of the back doors and was immediately greeted by... nothing.

Well, nothing but a rusty, old, damaged plane. It looked like it came out of a Wright Brothers documentary. It was white, and very small. It was desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint. The propellers looked a bit ruined, but functional and the windows were stained. A poorly painted-on red line stretched across the entirety of the plane, between the grimy windows. Written under the windows, in black was _Sal Blood Airline_. There was an _s_ , at the end, but it was crossed out with a red _x_. All in all, Morticia thought he plane a sight for sore eyes.

As Morticia studied that unique exterior features of the plane, a man popped out from behind it.

He was older, probably in his late fifties. He had white stubble that was pretty much a beard, and one brown eye. The right eye was covered by a black eye-patch. The man was around five foot nine, and portly. He was not huge, but he definitely had a stomach. His skin was white, but on the tanner side. His lips were slightly chapped, and his nails were average length for a man, but he clearly bit them. He wore an old, tattered baseball cap and a plain white shirt that had a hole near the bottom, with an old, washed-out stain on it. He wore worn jeans. His shoes were brown boots, and his light jacket was old and brown as well. He grinned a toothy grin. His teeth were not yellow, but were sort of off-white. They were not one-hundred percent straight, either.

He had a meaningful stride, but he made progress. It seemed as though each step had something behind it, and there was a war-torn story behind each breath he took. He shook Morticia's hand, happily. "Hello, ma lady." He had no southern accent, but he spoke as though he should.

"Hello. It's a pleasure to meet you." Morticia's eyes smiled.

"You as well." The man spit the toothpick out of his mouth. "I'm Salvador Blood, but you can call me Sal." He chuckled. "If I had friends, they'd call me Sal, too!"

Morticia gave a light laugh. "I'm Morticia A- Frump." It was Frump, damn it. "But, you can call me Morticia."

"Hello, Morticia."

Morticia smiled. "Do you own this plane?"

Sal walked, Morticia a few feet behind, to the side of the plane. "Sure do. Isn't she a beauty?" He heartily slapped the side of the plane, and the entire thing shook. Sal waved it off. "Ah, that's nothin'."

Morticia nodded, in agreement at Sal's previous statement. "She's lovely."

"Thank ya, ma dear. Now, ya may think that this here plane is breakin' down." He sighed, then pointed at her. "And yer right." Sal paused. "Well, half-right. Twenty years old, hasn't seen a repair man in ten. But she's still fully fuctional."

Morticia touched the side of the plane, and put down the hood of her cloak, nodding, in awe at the thing.

"Unfortunately, ma right eye isn't." Sal said.

"Hmm?" Morticia looked at him.

"Ma right eye. Covered by this here patch, 'cause I lost it five years ago." Sal explained.

"How?" Morticia inquired.

Sal sighed. "Tripped over a string -trap I set for burglars- in the dark. Landed on a real sharp, metal spork."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Morticia was shocked. The poor man. And over an incident that could happen to nearly anyone?

"Ah, don't be. I'm a clumsy guy." Sal began to walk Morticia to the door of the plane. "It's a lil' messy, excuse me."

Morticia stepped onto the ramp to get to the plane, and handed Sal her luggage.

Sal tipped his hat, smiling and opened the door. Upon opening it, it completely fell of and nearly crushed the lady behind him by a mere few inches.

Morticia's eyes widened, a bit startled.

Sal shrugged. "'Happens." He remarked and readjusted the door, then entered the plane.

A loud clanging, shuffling, the stomping of feet, and the moving of furniture could be heard.

Confused, Morticia waited for about three minutes.

Sal popped his head out of the entrance to the plane. "Come on in, girlie."

Morticia entered the plane, carefully shutting the door behind her. There were no passenger seats on the plane, but instead there was a small bed, a brown, stained Lazy Boy couch and a lamp. There was a fan, and a few empty bags of fast food on the ground, as well as a wooden dresser drawer near one window, and a fish tank. One of the fish in it, lifelessly floating upside down, it's eyes rolled back in its head.

Morticia looked around the disheveled plane, then back at Sal.

Sheepish, he spoke. "See, it woulda been a bit more organized, had I known someone would actually wanna climb aboard ol' Sal Blood Airline."

"Oh, it doesn't bother me." Morticia responded, honestly. She could smell the fresh odour of Febreze. "You're helping me a great deal."

Sal smiled. "Shucks, it's nothin'. Listen, Morticia, yer gonna have ta be co-pilot. I like ya and that's the safest seat."

Morticia took off her cloak and hung it up on the coatrack next to the door. "That won't be a problem."

"Ever flown a plane before?" Sal asked and grabbed a thick wad of Gorilla Tape, then heavily duct-taping the door in place.

Morticia shook her head. "No, but it shouldn't be too hard." After what she went through, this would be like passing a third grade English exam.

"Great. I should tell ya that I live on this here plane." Sal said.

"Oh, do you?" Morticia pretended she didn't notice. Sal seemed like a sweet man and she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Yessir- uh, ma'am." Sal took her hand and led her to the pilots' seats. "Here we are."

He put on his headset and gave on to Morticia. "There ya are, ma lady. Now, lemme show you how to help fly this baby." He paused, then laughed to himself. "You can be ma right eye woman!"

Morticia laughed, herself and carefully watched, and patiently listened as Sal explained how to be a co-pilot.

After about fifteen minutes, they were in the air, flying.

Sal broke the silence. "Airline I used to work for was Adams Airlines."

"Really?" Addams. Morticia missed her last name terribly.

"Yep." Sal nodded.

"My last name used to be Addams." Shit. She let it slip. Now what was she going to do?

Not catching on, Sal continued. "One _d_ or two?"

"Two." Morticia replied.

"Good." Sal then caught onto Morticia's prior claim. "Used to be?" He inquired.

"Yes." Morticia figured if anyone would believe her, it would be him. She did not know why, but she felt she could confide in this stranger, so she did. "I don't know why, but I am about to trust you."

Sal raised his eyebrows. "Kid, I think ya did that when ya got in the plane with me."

Morticia smiled and briefly closed her eyes. "Yes, it appears I did." She paused. "Sal, please promise me you won't think me mad?" She asked.

"Morticia, I've seen too much to think anyone mad." He responded. "Even maself."

Morticia nodded. "Alright then. I'll summarize." She took a deep breath. "My horrid excuse for a sister recited a spell, called Sensus Inversus, that sent us back in time. This caused my family to not remember anything about our old life, and become her family. Thus, I've made a plan.

"I have a box, and I think I may be able to contact my deceased father with it. I have to go to Ivorybrooke, Massachusetts and get to his grave. I'm hoping he can assist me somehow. Then, I'll have to travel three cities over, to Mockrage, so I can meet up with my family that is no longer mine, and get them back via time travel. So, right now, I am living under my maiden name, Frump, because I am the only one besides my sister, who remembers anything."

Sal took not a minute to digest all of the information he had been given. "Hey, I'll believe it. If ya succeed, maybe it can bring December back."

Morticia was dumbfounded. "December's gone?" She always knew that Ophelia hated winter but she thought this was taking it a bit too far.

"No, kid." Sal shook his head, then grew serious. "December was my daughter."

Morticia paused. "Was?"

"Yea. She was a beautiful girl. Thirty-three years old when she died, she woulda been thirty-seven in three months. She was tall for a lady, my height. Her hair was jet black, and in a real curly bob. Her eyes were icy blue, and her skin was real pale. Not as pale as yers, but pale. She was a skinny girl, and liked the dark colours. She was fascinated by the gothic subculture, and she was goin' to school to be a fashion designer. She was the sweetest girl there ever was, and didn't have a lotta friends. But she was so sweet, and carin'. She cared about anyone and everyone, and was actually a pretty big human rights activist.

"I was single. Her mom died when she was six months old, and I raised her. She was ma lil' buddy. Outgoin', strong, independent as all hell. She inspired me to stop workin' for those damned Adams and open my own Airline company. It worked well for a while, until it didn't. It went real downhill five years ago." Sal would not cry, not in front of Morticia.

Morticia looked around, briefly. "I didn't notice."

"Thanks." Sal continued.

Morticia felt awful for the poor man. "I am terribly sorry for your loss, Sal."

Sal briefly put a hand atop Morticia's. "Thank ya, dear."

Morticia thought for a moment. "Perhaps you could try to séance her?"

"Nah, I've tried that twelve times already." Sal shook his head.

"Might I ask how she died?"

"Ya might."

Morticia paused, waiting. Then said, "How did she die?"

"Plane crash. She died in a plane crash. Fired the bastard who killed my daughter. Didn't know how to fly Stella -what I named ma old plane. And as a result, ma December died. Shoulda never hired him. But I did." He paused. "Sittin' in that there co-pilot's seat, she was."

Morticia's eyes lit up, and she was unfazed by what he had said about her sitting in December's death-seat. "I understand, Sal. I can help you. It's no wonder that you haven't been successful. The poor dear is afraid. Perhaps you could come to my house once we get everything resolved one day and I could assist you."

Sal gave a bittersweet laugh. "Hey, if this whole goin' back in time thing works out for ya, maybe I won't need ya to assist me."

Morticia leaned her head back, and thought about her family. "Maybe you won't."

Sal and Morticia had been talking for hours, and in just one hundred twenty minutes, Morticia would arrive in Ivorybrooke.

"So, I told the school that while I did appreciate their coming to me, Wednesday was perfectly fine. We told her that while she adored learning about her great aunt Calpurnia, she could not dance naked in the town square, nor could she enslave the minister." Morticia had been telling Sal a story about when Wednesday was eight, and her class had done a report on their idols.

Sal liked this Morticia, and was starting to catch on to her... aesthetic. "'A course."

"Not until college." Morticia finished.

Sal laughed. "Wanna hear a joke?"

"Sure."

"My grades in Spanish class."

Morticia chuckled. She thought it was funny. Sal seemed like a sweet, quirky guy and it saddened her a bit that he would not remember her once she sorted things out... if, she sorted things out.

"Hey, I can take over. Ya got a long day a risin' the dead tomorra." Sal said.

Morticia yawned. "No, Sal. It's alright, really. We're in the middle of a rainstorm. I don't want you to have to fly on your own through this."

Sal shook his head. "Sleep, I got it."

Morticia nodded. "Wake me if you need anything." With that, she began to drift off, and dream of the family that had been mercilessly ripped away from her.

Then, two hours later, Sal Blood Airline landed at the Ivorybrooke airport.

Sal landed the plane, and watched the rainstorm out the window. Rain, he thought, seemed to follow this woman. It was as if the weather most considered brutal was attracted to this mysterious girl. He smiled, liking the sound of it as it added to her mystery, and made him think about her similarities to December.

Sal gently shook the sleeping beauty next to him awake. "Morticia? We're here."

Morticia's eyes opened and she sat up, taking off the headpiece. "We are?"

"Yea. I like ya kid but ya gotta hit the road."

Morticia nodded, stood, walked into Sal's sleeping area and grabbed her luggage.

She put on her cloak, and pulled up the hood. Sal walked her out of the plane, then and shook her hand.

"Thank you again, Sal." Morticia smiled at him. "How much do I owe you for your trouble?"

Sal held up a hand. "No trouble at all."

"Oh, I apologize." Morticia's hand gracefully came over her heart. "I did try."

Sal gave a hearty laugh. "You're a funny one, I like ya." He paused. "Eight-ninety-nine."

Morticia nodded, then, and reached into her purse. She pulled out nine hundred dollars. She handed it to Sal. "Here you are. Keep the change."

Sal raised an eyebrow. "Hell of a lotta change."

Morticia did not think much of one dollar, but understood its value, as she was once in a slightly better position than Sal. "Oh, well, it's alright, Sal. Keep it."

"Thanks, kid." Sal tipped his hat. "Don't be a stranger." He paused, then thought back to her words about time travel. "On second thought, do."

"Thank you." Morticia replied.

Then, Sal fully re-entered the plane.

Morticia walked down the ramp with her luggage, and walked into the Ivorybrooke airport. She watched through the see-through doors as the plane flew away, and noticed a crack of lightening.

"Fly recklessly!" She called, even though she knew he no longer could hear her.

Then, she began to walk through the airport. One step closer to reuniting with her family... with Gomez. But what she would do when she got there, she had absolutely no idea.


	7. He Loved Her

One would think most couples would be in bed at 1:00 am on a pitch black, foggy mid-September morning. Morning, if one could even call it that, that is. Not Ophelia and Gomez Addams.

Ophelia sat at the table, in her long, silk, flowing, yellow nightgown. It was lowcut with long sleeves, which puffed out. She wore white slippers with it, and all of her makeup was off. Her hair was brushed out but still just as curly. She held her head in her hands, not bothering to look at her husband.

Gomez wore black pajama bottoms and a silk, red robe. "Is there a reason you have waited to tell me why you're so angry until one in the morning?" He asked, masking the anger in his voice with tiredness.

Ophelia turned to him. "Yes. I have been trying to come up with a way to express how disgusting your behavior was this evening." She replied.

"What?" Gomez was in disbelief, but he learned not to battle with Ophelia over the years he had been her husband, and he had been putting that lesson to good use for about seventeen of those years now. When the letters stopped. When he stopped writing them, rather.

"You contradicted me in front of the girls, Gomez." Ophelia turned to face him. "Honestly, darling, I have never been so embarrassed."

Gomez could not believe she was overreacting over a simple contradictory statement- no, yes he could. This was Ophelia, not... anybody else. "That?"

"That? Really, Gomez, that is all you have to say? What has gotten into you?" Ophelia sat up, straight. "You used to love me." She said, melodramatically and dabbed her perfectly dry eyes with a white, lacey handkerchief. "You used to care." She sounded completely scorned.

Gomez, not willing to argue, conceded. "I apologize, Ophelia. You know Fester and the finances is a touchy subject."

"Well, get over it." The overdramatic Ophelia produced tears. "It happened years ago."

Gomez felt a lump in his throat. It was love, he told himself. He loved her. He loved her. "I am very sorry, Ophelia." He replied, putting a hand on his shoulder. _You are not stuck, you wanted to do that because you love her. You love your wife. You love her._ He kissed her hand. "How can I make it up to you?"

Ophelia smiled and stood up. "You can make it up to me right now." She kissed him.

He loved her, he coached himself. One would think he would believe it after twenty years, but he needed coaching. Every. Single. Day. Even though, she was the mother of his children. However, right now, he didn't want any more. "Ophelia, no." He pulled away, hitting the counter. "I'm awfully tired, it's one in the morning."

"Oh, please, darling." Seeking him out, Ophelia stood and grabbed him, fiercely kissing him again. "That doesn't bother me."

Gomez cleared his throat. "Yes, well, it bothers me."

"Gomez, I'm not going to play this game." She began to unbutton his shirt. "Take me now or take me shopping." She used that phrase the night Peter was conceived, Gomez remembered. "And we know how much you hate that."

"Ophelia-" Gomez, for some reason, fought it. He hated the feeling of making love to her, mostly because something never felt right. He hated the thought, for some reason, of getting slightly turned on by the woman before him. His wife. He hated the feeling fo being turned on by his wife. But being turned on and loving someone were different things, he said in the back of his mind. He always cursed out loud at those thoughts, when alone.

"Gomez..." Ophelia wrapped her arms around his neck, looking into his eyes with a wounded gaze. "I would have thought you loved me by now."

Gomez sighed and put his hands on her waist. "Of course I do."

Ophelia smiled. "Well, prove it."

Gomez nodded. He loved her. He loved her. His pants were getting tight, not because he was not picturing this woman before him in his mind. They were getting tight because this woman was before him.

When he kissed her, and his tongue touched hers, it was not because he imagined the tongue of anyone else. It was because it was his wife's tongue. When he removed her nightgown, and lied her on the sturdy counter, he did it because he had wanted to do it to her, not to anyone else. He let her remove his robe because she was the only one he wanted to do that, because she was his wife. She was his wife, and his love. He loved her. He tried. How, he tried.

He kissed her down her body, desperately trying to stir feelings of passion from within, desperately trying to remember how he did it the last time he fucked her, two weeks ago. He worked himself up, always. _Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Just do it. Do it. Remember how it was before Ophelia. Love her, don't, figure it out later. Just do it. Get hard. Kiss her. Take her._

Gomez nodded and removed the rest of his clothing, doing what he did best, especially before Ophelia came into his life, and letting his hands and lips roam all over her body.

He listened to the sharp breaths, the gasps and the moans escaping from his wife and felt her grip the counter for support while she arched her back.

He climbed on top of her and made out with her, groping her butt and pulling her in. He then entered her, and it took him a few thrusts, but he climaxed. He did, and felt an ache in his heart like something was missing. But nothing was missing, he reminded himself.

He got off of Ophelia and she forced his arms around her. So, he held her, having no other alternative. Within a few minutes, she was asleep. Soon, before falling asleep, he put on his pants, and draped his robe around his wife. He then carried her upstairs.

He clapped his hands, and the lights turned off. Then, he tucked her in on her side of the bed, and climbed onto his side.

He turned to her, and flopped on his back.

 _Breathe, old man._ Gomez told himself. _Wendy's got a dance recital soon. Brighten up._

He closed his eyes, and let his unhinged dreams and some much-needed sleep transport him.

He loved her.

Morticia took Crimson out of the compartment in her suitcase -she left it open a good deal so that the snake could breathe- and draped her over her shoulders. She then walked through the airport, not bothering to take off the hood of her cloak. It was pouring rain outside, so she wanted to get out there as quickly as possible.

While not one to blend in with the crowd, nobody did try to stop her. That mainly could have been due to the fact that she looked intimidating, to say the least. She had once (the night of her arrest), as Gomez had said, brought two grown men police officers to their knees.

Morticia was actually a very good person, although labeled the town witch by everyone in Rosewood, where she grew up. Going back to Ivorybrooke was indeed a bit unsettling, as she had not been there in a very long time, nor had she had any desire to, not really. She would only go down once every couple of months to visit her father's grave. But to really visit the city? Let alone go back to Rosewood? That, was intimidating. She was labeled the town witch by those people. And although this was an altered reality, Morticia had a feeling her personal reality didn't change all that much.

When by the front doors to the airport, near the parking lot, Morticia realized she brought no umbrella. Bracing herself, she walked through the storm now brewing and paid no mind to the stares she received while doing so.

Head high, she continued to walk until she got to the curb. A taxi she had tried to flag down past her, and she let her thoughts wander to Gomez.

God, it was cold.

If he were here, she knew, he would hold her and drape his jacket around her. He would kiss her and warm her and walk through the rain with her. He would casually smoke his cigar and she would... she would not cry.

She had wonderful memories, beautiful, wonderful memories that she would always cherish, no matter what.

The setting of one memory, she recalled, was much like the setting she was in now.

 _It was raining, a storm already in the works. It was the last night of their weekend vacation in Salem, two years ago, and the lovers had just left the hotel. Before the storm, when the rain was merely a drizzle, they had decided to go on a walk to a restaurant Morticia had seen that she thought they would both greatly enjoy. It was large, and dark. She heard it even had a band and a dance-floor._

 _"Gomez, darling?" Morticia spoke louder than usual, the wind, screaming._

 _"Yes, carita?" The words came out in a laboured breath. Gomez had to stop on the sidewalk they walked on. He was fiddling with the black umbrella. It was desperately trying to break free of his hold, and folded itself this way and that. It pulled him forward, then pushed him backward. It was too much._

 _Amused, Morticia walked a bit faster to catch up with him, soaked, due to the rain and wishing she had brought her cloak. "Having trouble, mon amour?" She asked._

 _Gomez forcefully pulled the umbrella towards him. "Mi corazón, I appreciate it. But, -" The umbrella pulled in the opposite direction. "I can handle it." He felt as though he were assuring himself more than his wife._

 _"Stubborn, are we?" Morticia raised an eyebrow._

"No, we're fine." Gomez nodded as the umbrella folded in on itself again.

 _"Mmm-hmm." Morticia looked the sight up and down._

 _"It's alright, Tish, believe me. It's an umbrella." Gomez had never had so much trouble with an umbrella before! He seemed to get the thing under control, and he situated it above their heads. Then, his progress erased, it folded inwards again. He would not lose his temper over this. No. He groaned. "A very flimsy, umbrella."_

 _Morticia rolled her eyes. "Je t'amie."_

 _Gomez chuckled and looked into her beautiful eyes._

Another taxi passed her. But she refused to let it disturb her magnificent memory.

 _"I love you too, my dearest." She heard Gomez say._

 _The umbrella then flew out of Gomez's grasp and into the street, then getting flattened and run over by a semi-truck._

 _Morticia linked arms with her husband and kissed him, passionately. "Well, you tried, mon cher."_

 _Gomez bit his lip, but noticed her shivering. "Tish, you're freezing."_

 _"I am not freezing, darling. I am just-" Morticia shivered. "A bit cold."_

 _Gomez rolled his eyes, and laughed. "Don't you ever call me stubborn again." He b_ e _gan to remove his jacket._

 _Morticia sighed. "Alright. Out of fairness, I'll be honest."_

 _"Out of fairness? So that is what we call conceding now?" Gomez asked._

 _Morticia gracefully wrapped her arms around herself. "Do you want to win this or not?"_

 _Gomez took of his grey and black, pinstriped jacket, and took the pack of cigars out of his pocket, putting it in that of his white under-shirt. He then pulled one out to smoke. "To be quite honest, I don't know if I want to win just yet."_

 _"Tu es fou." Morticia shook her head as her husband draped his jacket over her shoulders._

 _"Ah, merci, Madame." Gomez had no idea what she had just said, as his French was not nearly as fluent as his wife's._

 _Morticia laughed out loud. "I just called you crazy."_

 _Gomez admired the beautiful woman before him. She was breathtaking, especially like this. Completely soaked but wearing his jacket, much too big for her lithe form. Her black eyes, looking straight at him. She was absolutely irresistible. "Well, in that case," He kissed her. "Touché."_

 _Morticia held onto her husband's jacket while he wrapped his arms around her waist, cigar in his mouth._

 _"Thank you." Morticia, using her free hand, playfully took the cigar out of his mouth and tried to smoke it. She coughed and immediately took it out. "Now, that is one thing, I cannot do."_

 _Gomez took it out of her hands and put it out on the ground. "You can do anything." He told her._

 _Morticia shook her head. "Not that. You'd be wonderful for their advertising campaign, you make it look enjoyable."_

 _Gomez laughed._

 _"Gomez," Morticia looked up as lightening cracked across the sky. "What if lightning struck us dead, right now?"_

 _Gomez smiled. "Well, my darling, the only way I will ever go is with you at my side." He replied._

 _"I mean, would you have been happy with everything? Everything we've done, and..." Morticia didn't know where all of this was coming from. "I just want you to know how incredibly happy you make me, mon diable."_

 _Gomez couldn't help but smile at her, and love her. He absolutely adored the black goddess of the night before him. His only true satisfaction came from knowing that he made her happy. He kissed her hand. "I adore you, Tish."_

 _Morticia kissed him, then, intensely passionate. After which, she leaned her head against him and that night's rain turned to little more than a drizzle._

 _Still soaking wet, they walked to the restaurant. And-_

Finally, a taxi stopped.

Morticia waved her hands, elegantly. "Taxi!"

The driver saw her and opened the door. "Get in, lady." He barely had time to register what she looked like.

Morticia gave a grateful nod and put her luggage in the back-seat. Then, she got into the passenger's seat of the car and closed the door.

The driver casually turned to his right, and that is when he saw it. A real, live, hissing, python.

"Jesus!" He screamed.

Morticia did not jump, very used to hearing screams, and instead, nonchalantly looked down at Crimson and back up at the unnamed driver. "Pardon me, is something wrong?"

The driver gulped, shaking. "Sn-sn-snake. Lady, you have a snake. On... your..." He gestured to his neck. "On your neck, there."

Morticia nodded. "I'm aware. Her name is Crimson."

The man still looked afraid.

Morticia stroked the snake gently and held up a reassuring hand at the driver. "Don't worry, she bites."

The driver nodded. "'Kay." He said, abruptly. "Where... where to?"

Morticia leaned back in the seat. "I'd like to go to the Rosewood Cemetery, please."

Great. The driver was ready to jump taxi. This ghost woman brought a snake into his car, and now instructed him to drive to the cemetery. He scoffed. "What? Ya live there?"

"No." Morticia replied. "My father does."

The man, afraid for his life, gulped and began to drive to their destination.

Finally, after the longest forty five minutes of the taxi-driver's life, they arrived at the entrance of the Rosewood Cemetery.

The rain had barely calmed down, and that, Morticia was happy about. Or rather, unhappy as she and Gomez used to call it. The only thing she hated was that he was not there with her.

Morticia turned to the now heavily perspiring driver. "Thank you very much, Tod. I appreciate it."

"Oh, it's... it's no problem." Tod then realized something. "How, d-did ya know my name?"

Morticia got out of the car. "Oh, it's an old trick I picked up during my college studies." She explained.

Then, she grabbed her luggage out of the back seat and came up to the window of the car.

Tod rolled the window down. "Y-yea, what is... what is it, lady?"

"How much do I owe you?" Morticia asked him.

"Fifty." Tod said.

Morticia nodded and pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill. "I have this on hand, will that suffice?"

Tod gulped, nodded and sped away, thankfully not hitting Morticia with the water that splashed up around the car,

Morticia turned and walked up to the black, iron, cemetery gates. Quite ironic that Rosewood had the spookiest cemetery in Ivorybrooke. That, was the reason her father had wanted to be buried there. He was a lot like his youngest daughter.

Morticia, anxious but remaining stoic, readied herself to enter the cemetery, but not before finishing her memory.

 _They walked to the restaurant, and Gomez held her in his arms and danced wih her. They didn't care about how wet their clothes were or where their umbrella was, or the state it was in. All they cared about was each other, that was it._

Time stopped every time Morticia looked into Gomez's eyes. Every. Single. Time. From the moment she first saw him, she knew he would be her forever. Because, like nobody else...

He loved her.


	8. Morticia's Box

Morticia walked through the Rosewood Cemetery, in the rain that night. Or morning, it was pitch dark outside, so one whom was watch-less couldn't tell.

Morticia was indeed without a timepiece, but she had looked at that of the taxi driver.

She walked, her dark, upturned eyes, studying the headstones. They were grey, dirty, most older than Morticia's grandmother -whom she had never met, for she died before Morticia was born, of pneumonia, her mother had said- and large. The words on the stones were hard to see through the crystalline raindrops falling from the black night-sky.

The full moon illuminated the illusive, witch-like woman's porcelain complexion. She truly did look like an apparition sometimes.

Her eyes fixated on a particular headstone that she had always found upsetting.

 _Loraine Anne Evans_

 _1803-1808_

 _A daughter, taken from us too soon, by Lilith Anne Evans._

Morticia always did feel ill when she saw that headstone. It was dreadful. What kind of mother would do that to her own child? Poor little Loraine was much too young to be subjected to that. To wait, at least, a few more years, but even _that_ was pushing it.

Morticia wished she had thorns or something to put down at the little girl's headstone, but she had not a thing. All she could do was hope that the little girl wasn't stuck in limbo somewhere, still being tormented by her terrible mother. Five years old. It was a pity.

She stroked a hissing Crimson and continued to glide through the cemetery. That was her way of walking. She glided, elegantly, almost as if she were flaoting.

She reminisced, it was one of the things Gomez used to love about dancing with her. She was very light on her feet, and could keep up with anything. And the way she could tango, for having absolutely no Spanish blood. It was, to the average person, something to admire. But to Gomez, it was much more. It was another thing to add to his endless mental list of the reasons why he loved his querida.

Morticia heard a peel of thunder, and remembered then that the cemetery was surrounded by trees. She smiled, slightly, knowing soon her smile would dissapear, as her father's grave was just around the corner.

As she walked toward where she had memorized the spot her father was burried, she thought. What if, perhaps, he was not dead in this reality? Perhaps she could see him, alive and well, even if only for a while? What if she could find a way for him to be alive in the old reality? Perhaps the box was a sign that her father was not dead here? Perhaps-

 _Charles S. Frump_

 _1930-1971_

 _Beloved father, husband and brother. Life cut to short by-_

 _IT'S COLD IN HERE. Just thought you should know._

 _The least you can do for the dead is keep 'em comfortable._

 _Jesus._

 _Anyway, enjoy the stone._

Never she mind. He was indeed deceased... in every reality.

Morticia had to smile, however, at her father's dark sense of humour, her humour. She let the silent tears fall down her cheeks. She missed him more than anything. It stung her heart to remember that day he died... she was the last person her saw. She, souly she, had witnessed her father's death. Morticia never knew what witnessing the death of someone you loved with all your heart did to a person. Not until it happened to her. And God, even now, after more than twenty years, it was hell. The kind of hell that she never wanted to be in. But she was.

 _Morticia had gone from having a fine day to having on of the worst of her life. Her father was in her room, innocently helping her feed her pet vultures, Hubert and Henry the second(s), when he began to shake, uncontrollably._

 _ **"Father!"** She screamed and dropped the plate of food, instantly causing it to shatter but she could care less. _

_She put a pillow under his head and tried to keep him away from anything dangerous._

 _Her mother rushed upstairs and flew into a panic._

 _Next thing Morticia knew, Charles, her father, her best friend in the entire world, was being rushed to the hospital._

 _Morticia had not allowed herself to cry infront of her mother and sister. She had to remain strong. And she had never resented Ophelia more for not even voicing concern._

 _'If you aren't concerned, at least fake it, goddamit! He's our father!' Morticia wanted to scream. But she didn't. She didn't because she thought, deep down, perhaps her sister did care. Besides, Esmeralda did not need the added pressure of her daughter's fighting, not at a time like this._

 _The family had stayed at an unconcious Charles' beside for hours._

 _Morticia could not sleep a wink. She had a hand on his shoulder or held his left hand while Esmeralda held on tightly to his right. That blasted machine was beeping, and every beep meant he was alive, and not on the brink of death. Or so they thought._

 _A while later, they had learned that he had had a severe stroke. But he would make it._

 _And even better, he awoke and everything was finally looking down... but everything that is down, must eventually come up. Even Charles Frump._

 _That night, Esmeralda brought Charles his favourite soup, Spider Soup._

 _Morticia, finally able to sleep knowing that her father was going to make it, awoke the next day to the opposite of an unhappy ending. Her father was coughing up much more blood than normal, and shaking. He had fallen ill, catching a disease overnight._

 _Morticia and Ophelia both turned to Esmeralda, who was praying to God that it was not anything he-_

 _"It was something he ate." The one doctor clarified. He shook his head. "Well, that's one way to find out your allergic to dwarf spiders."_

 _Morticia gave the doctor her death glare and looked down at her obviously ill father. He was cold, colder than Morticia. Cold as a corpse._

 _Esmeralda screamed, and Morticia watched as her mother hyperventilated into a bag._

 _She listened to the doctors and nurses explain that her father, her father who had taken her through midnight walks in the cemetary, her father who had helped her when Homer, her childhood pet spider, had died, her father who snuck Newts' Eyes Salad into her school lunch in elementary, her father who had been the one to raise her to value herself, to believe in herself, to not give a damn about what anyone thought about how she dressed or lived, even her sister, her father... her father who had told her how beautiful she was, had suffered a terrible allergic reaction. Her father... was going to die._

 _Morticia's world crashed down around her. She broke inside. But what shattered her was that she was not allowed to show it, because her mother was a wreck. Her mother was a wreck and unable to care about her youngest daughter's feelings. Morticia was used to it, and to a point, she understood. But God... did it hurt._

 _Morticia's sister spent a few minutes saying goodbye, but did not have the history with him that Morticia did. She could not feel nearly as sorry as her younger sister._

 _Esmeralda spent no more than three minutes saying goodbye, because she couldn't take it. She couldn't take seeing her husband like that._

 _So, it was just Morticia... and her best friend._

 _She took his hand, and he smiled at her, weak. Choked up but perservering, she spoke. "Father?"_

 _"Yes, my dear?" He coughed._

 _Morticia shook her head. "Father, please don't leave. I... I want you to see me get married some day. I want you to meet your future grandchildren. I want to make more memories with you. You're the only one who's ever shown they loved me."_

 _Charles cried, but used his shaking hand and dried her tears. "Morticia, I want to stay. You don't know how badly I want to stay. But you and your have been up trying every spell in the book, I know it. But I have to go."_

 _Morticia shook her head. "No, you don't. You can't. Father, think of everything we have. Every happy memory I have has you in it."_

 _"And you will always have that." Charles squeezed her hand._

 _"But, I want you. Physically, you. You're my best friend. My only friend besides Hailie and Josh, and even they don't know me like you do." Morticia cried. "You made me."_

 _"I helped." Charles chuckled._

 _Morticia shook her head, sobbing but laughing a bit. "No. You shaped who I am, I'm not ready to let that go. To let you go." She gulped, and winced in pain. "I think my heart is breaking." She admitted._

 _Charles squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry."_

 _Morticia shook her head. "Father, I can't let you go. I... I'm not strong enough."_

 _Charles grabbed her jaw, gently and looked her in her eyes, his eyes. "You are string enough. Morticia, you are the strongest person I know. Stronger than your sister, your mother, and me. You will lead this family, I can feel it. You're going to do great things. I know it."_

 _"But... how? For all I know, you'll be the last person that ever truly loves me."_

 _"Don't say that. Now, I very well may be the only one who'd die for you right now, girl. But hear me when I say that I am not the last. You are a beautiful, strong, and talented young lady, damn it. You will find someone who worships you, who'd do anything for you. You won't settle for anything less. If you're gonna retain a lesson I've taught you, let it be this: never settle. You're too important to me." Charles said, holding back coughing up more blood._

 _Morticia let his words sink in. "Father?"_

 _Charles breather, heavily. "Yes?"_

 _Charles had always taught Morticia that hurt and pain were different things. But she never understood what that meant... until now. **"This hurts."**_

 _Charles supressed a sob, himself. "I'm so sorry, darling."_

 _"I love you, father." Morticia said. Then, asked the customary, "Any last requests?"_

 _Charles smiled. "Smile for me." He said. "I know it's hard, Morticia, but please. It's rare, but it's beautiful. When you were born, I passed out."_

 _The duo laughed._

 _"But when I woke up, I turned to your mother and I said, 'Esmeralda, she's perfect.' And Morticia, you are." Charles said. "And so is your smile."_

 _Morticia mustered up her courage and smiled, the way she always did. And she embraced him, crying but still smiling through it all._

 _She witnessed true love, she felt it. His dying wish was to lay his eyes upon his daughter's smile on last time._

 _Charles coughed and stroked her hair. "Take good care of Kitty for me."_

 _Morticia loved that animal, and her heart hurt, bad. It felt like a thousand daggers were stabbing her, and twisting, and turning but never once letting her go. "I will." Morticia replied, still smiling, not letting the hurt show through._

 _"Morticia..." Chalres looked into her eyes. "Never lose your darkness."_

 _Morticia nodded. "I love you."_

 _Charles embraced her, and before he could respond... he flatlined._

 _Morticia had never cried so much, screamed so much until the day her father died._

And all of those emotions from losing him came flooding back, breaking the dam she built brick by brick, and never really let down for anyone but her husband.

Morticia set down her luggage, and put the snake in her carry-on, leaving her air. She then, carefully, took out the box from her bag, the key as well, and studied it, reading the outside.

 _To Morticia,_

 _Love, Father._

Morticia let her hand run over the dark wood of the small box, and held up the golden skeleton-designed key. Waisting no time, she turned the key in the hole, in the front of the box. It opened.

In the box, was a small, rolled-up scroll, tied with black ribbon. The box had more words engraved in it, under the top. She read them.

 _My dear Morticia,_

 _If ever you find yourself in trouble,_

 _If ever you need me,_

 _I will always be there,_

 _I do not care how dead I am._

 _Read this, my darling,_

 _Trust your father, and read._

 _I love you, my daughter._

 _-Father_

Morticia, still crying, carefully undid the ribbon. The tiny scroll unfolded then, to reveal carefully written sentences, in blood caligrophy.

The wind howled, like Morticia wanted to. However, she got her breathing under control, and cleared her throat. She began to read. "My dear father... awaken in any way, shape or form that you can. I ask you, spirit, for help. If you indeed can assist your blood, or if it is blood you need, then it is blood I will give. Ultra velum intrabit lumen terebramus acuto, Charles S. Frump, et mandavero et præcepero."

Morticia waited, wondering if she was just chanting Latin into the dark like a madwoman, with nobody listening. Minutes passed, and she was beggining to think she was right.

Dejected, she knelt down by her father's grave and cried on his headstone. It was really one of the only times she could cry, alone. She hated shwoing her emotion, and only ever felt comfortable doing so around her lost husband. But he was just that, lost. And now... now, so was she.

"Father, I tried." Morticia explained, to what, she didn't know and nuzzled against the cold, hard slab of stone. "I tried so hard." She closed her eyes, tearful.

"I know you did, my darling."

Morticia knew that hearty voice with a slightly rough edge. That fatherly voice. Her heart stopped. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Could it?

As if hearing her thoughts, the voice spoke. "Morticia... it's me."

Morticia's eyes shot open and fell upon a man.

He was five-foot-eleven, and muscular for a sixty-two-year-old man. He had fair white skin, and a mess of jet black hair and a mustache. He wore his worksuit, black, as usual. He adored being a mortician. This looked just like the woman before him, only masculine. One could tell she took after him. This man, was none other than Morticia's father.

Morticia jumped up and ran to him, in disbelief. It had been ten years since the last successful seónce. And an unsuccessful seónce was rare for Morticia. She hadn't seen him in so long. And even when she could get through to him, she had a half an hour, if that.

She embraced him and strong, healthy, he picked her up and squeezed her.

Morticia wrapped her arms around him and he dried her tears.

No more came.

She looked into her father's eyes.

Charles had Morticia's eyes, only they weren't upturned. But those dark brown iris'... looked just like his daughter's.

"Father!"

Charles chuckled. "It's me, dear."

Morticia breathed, heavily. "Are you still...?" She could not say it.

"Dead? Oh yes, dead as a doornail." Charles replied, nonchalantly.

Disheartened, but not discouraged, she continued. "But, how are you here? Do you have a time limit?"

Charles shook his head. "Not this time, Morticia."

Morticia was confused. "You could stay here forever, then?"

Charles sighed. "I wish it were that easy. I can stay as long as necessary to help you." He explained.

"I see." Morticia could not believe her strike of fortune, in this horrendous time. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." Charles then grabbed her shoulders and looked her up and down. "Look at you! You're beautiful! How old are you now?"

Morticia laughed. "Thrity seven."

Charles nodded. "Mmm. Still getting ID'd at the club?"

Morticia playfully hit his arm. "Father, I'm more of a bistro-person. Not a club-person." She paused. "But, yes. Yes, I am still ID'd when I go to 'the club'."

Charles chuckled. "Well, you look amazing. That Gomez is the luckiest man on earth." He gulped. "Well, was, anyway."

Morticia's eyes grew wide. "What?"

Charles held up a hand. "Not like that."

Morticia sighed and relaxed a bit.

"Just because your rotten sister screwed up his memory." Charles clarrified.

"So, I'm assuming you know everything?" Morticia asked.

"What? Dear, just 'cause I haven't gotten to visit you doesn't mean I don't watch you." Charles said.

"Well, good. Then, you know I talk about you, all the time."

"Yea, about that." Charles sighed. "Stop. The children'll be sick of me and they've never even met me!"

Morticia rolled her eyes. "No, they won't."

"How's my pretty little Kitty?" Charles asked. He missed that big lion so much.

Right. Kitty. Morticia loved the animal but with everything going on she had no idea where he could be. She hoped he was alive and well and perhaps just... living with Máma, for now.

"Kitty? He's wonderful. Legally elderly but physically, not at all. Kitty's still our big, strong boy." Morticia said. "Or, was."

"Was?" Charles inquired.

"I don't know where he is. Not anymore." Morticia then grew serious. "What are your limits?"

"Hmm?" Charles asked.

"I need help, father. I need to know how far you can go." His daughter explained. "What are your limits?"

"The sky is the limit!" Charles responded. "Your sister... she could have been a decent human-being. Instead she turned out worse than your Aunt Helda."

Morticia nodded, in agreement. "How true."

Charles sat atop his headstone, resting comfortably. "So, if you want, I know how to stop Sensus Inversus."

Morticia looked towards her father. "How?"

"It won't be easy, at all. Morticia, I hope you realize you cannot just walk in and everything will be back to normal."

Morticia nodded. "Yes, I had a feeling."

Charles sighed. "Oh. Alright and I suppose you know that you have to be subtle? Act like you really were gone twenty years because that's what they think?"

"Well, I had assumed." Morticia, independently responded.

"I see." Charles had to remember she was not a little girl anymore, every single time he saw her. He continued. "Blood is the reason that this all happened."

"Blood?"

Charles nodded exactly once. "Blood. You were betrayed by your blood, Ophelia. And you were loved by your blood, the children, and your mother." He said. "You and Gomez created blood, the children. And that blood was taken from you, by blood, again, Ophelia. Thus, blood is the answer."

"Perfect, hand me something sharp." Readily, Morticia rolled up her sleeve.

Alarmed but knowing how far his daughter was willing to go for this man, he rolled down his daughter's sleeve. "It isn't that simple, Morticia. If it was, I wouldn't be here."

Morticia inhaled and exhaled, deeply. "Well, how do you propose I fix this with blood, then?"

Charles patted her shoulder. "You of all people should know that all good things come to those who wait." He said. "Now,-"

"Pardon, father but how do you know how to fix this?" Morticia inquired. "You aren't a witch. If anyone would know it would be mother or I."

Charles humphed. "Your breaking my flow. Stop it."

"I appologize, but would you care to explain?"

"Yes I would." Charles leaned on his side a bit. "I know of a counter-spell because in the spirit world, we have a library. It contains every spell in the book..." Charles paused. "Books." He corrected himself but said this, enthusiastically.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "So, you like it there?"

Charles nodded. "I do." He paused, and took his daughter's hands. "But not as much as I miss it here. Or you."

Morticia looked away, her form of blushing. "Good."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Still too much like me, Morticia." He continued. "As I was saying, if you can get the children to like you, or to remember, or to believe you, and if you can get Gomez to seriously act on his love for you by your anniversary, then your blood combined should be enough to create a counter-potion."

Morticia grew concerned. "Father, that gives me barely a month."

Charles squeezed her hand. "Yep." He sighed. "But, there's more."

"More?" Morticia questioned.

"Going back to blood, Ophelia is also my daughter." Charles said.

"Where is this going?" Morticia hid the concern in her voice.

"She may be able to see me too. And in case mediums are around or she has spies, I think it best that I dissapear when we're not alone, to be on the safe side." Charles explained to her.

"But, how?"

Charles had obviously planned this out. He looked down at an alarmed Crimson. "Isn't she a beauty?"

"Oh, yes. She's magnificent." Morticia smiled down at her snake.

Charles nodded, as if the snake would suffice. But, for what purpose? "I... my dear, I am about to do something a bit weird." He told her. "Now, when I do this, you are the only one who can hear me when I talk. Just, remember that."

Morticia raised her eyebrow and watched as her father dissapeared.

"Father?" Morticia's eyes traveled to the snake, hissing and coiling around her, protectively.

She had not seen anything like that since her third semester at her first year of college. "Father, did you just...?"

"Yes. I did." Charles' voice was determined. "Now, let's go get Gomez."

Without another thought, Morticia picked up her luggage, and her purse, and flagged down another taxi.

This driver was in his late thirties, and quite the handsome fellow. He obviously worked out, and he appeared fairly tall. He was African American, with big, dark eyes. The man was happy he picked today to wear almost all black, minus the burgandy shirt. He wore a taxi-driver hat, black and shiny.

He rolled down his window. "Get in, it's freezin' out there." He said, in his best _sexy_ voice.

Morticia put her bags, minus the purse, in the back and got into the passenger's seat.

"Thank you." She rolled up the window.

"No problem." The driver eyed her up and down and bit his lip.

Morticia, while she had had her fair share of scares, she had also gotten many, many stares. People were entranced by her, and she, admittedly was a tad flirtatious. However, she never seriously led anyone on, nor did she want to. She loved Gomez with all her heart, and loved when he got jealous.

"324 Candeltop Hill, Briarwood, in Mockrage, please." Morticia broke the silence.

The driver, while barely taking his eyes off of her, began to drive. "Sure thing."

He pursed his lips and turned on Hard-Core LoveLife Radio. _Black Velvet_ began to play, and he figured the chick next to him might dig it.

"The name's Jason Reign." Jason tipped his hat at the red light and kissed her hand for far to long.

Morticia fixated her mysterious eyes on him. "Hello, Jason. I'm Morticia."

"Fitting. Dark name for a dark lady." Jason figured she would take this as a compliment and he began to drive again once the light turned green. "So, what was a beautiful lady like yourself doin' all alone out there in the rain?"

"I'm going to see someone I haven't seen in quite a long time." Morticia responded.

"Well, I'll be happy to give you a ride, gorgeous." Jason was half-subtle.

Morticia looked him up and down, internally making him shrink and admittedly making him hard at the same time. "Jason, I have a name."

Jason nodded. "Of course ya do."

"Do you remember it?" Morticia asked.

"Yea, darlin'."

Morticia nodded. "Mmm. What is it?"

"Hey, of course I do..." Jason, still trying to be a _smooth criminal_ , slyly put his hand, firmly on Morticia's thigh. He then remembered. "Morticia."

Morticia looked from Jason to her thigh, and back to Jason.

Jason gulped and slowly removed his hand, but still continued to steal hungry glances at her.

Charles took notice and finally had enough. He hissed at him, feircly.

Morticia looked down, a tad startled but keeping her cool.

"I don't like the way he's staring at you." Charles said, angrily.

Morticia stroked the snake. "Shh."

Charles did not keep quiet. "He thinks he can play hanky-panky with my happily married daughter, he has another thing coming. I don't care how complicated it is, I-"

Morticia simply heard muffled mumbling as she put the snake in her purse and zipped it. Charles was already dead, he was fine.

Morticia could hold her own. She did enjoy her power, but she never took it far. She certainly valued herself more than to escalate things with some doof who could not have the decency to remember her name. Besides which and most importantly, Morticia would never do that to her husband.

She loved him too much. Only trouble was that soon, she would have to prove it to a man who didn't remember he was ever even her's.


	9. Tea for the Passionless

Ophelia Addams rarely ever wore something athletic or extrememly casual, only when she had to. And she had to today.

She had on a white pair of work-out shorts, a hot-pink sports top and white sneakers. Her hair was in a high ponytail and she wore very little makeup. Her white step-counter was attatched to her wrist, as if it were a watch.

Sweating, she grabbed water out of their white, spotless refridgerator, as she had just come from a run.

The kitchen was very large, with a white and cream-coloured, porcelain-tile floor. The walls were lightly tan with classy, victorian white designs on them. The new, wooden cupboards were white ash, and were partially see-through via smudge-proof, beautifully deisgned glass. There was an archway from the kitchen, leading into the first-floor living room and a set of easily swinging double doors, the same colour as the cupboards, leading to the living room. The countertops were white marble, and every kitchen appliance was either white or silver. As little black as possible. Ophelia had made sure of that. There was even a small, white table with elegant-looking, matching chairs. Lastly, a pastel pink and white, flower-designed chandelier (priced at just under two million dollars) dangled from the high ceiling in the center of the room.

Ophelia checked her step-count and took a greek yogurt out of the fridge.

"Damn!" Ophelia grimaced. She had barely beaten her last step-count! But, she was not about to admit any of that to Linda and the girls, so she angrily jammed a spoon into her yogurt and said nothing, even though she was alone.

"Mother!" Ophelia heard her daughter call. She looked at the clock on the wall. 6:30 am. They should be catching the bus in about twenty minutes.

Wendy waltzed into the kitchen, Peter in toe, dragging his feet.

Ophelia put her yogurt down and reprimendad her son. "I told you not to drag your feet, you're an Addams."

Peter straightened up instantly. "Sorry, mother."

"We just checked the mail. Our report cards came in." Wendy said. "Would you like to see them?" She smoothed down her oviously expensive dress, ready for picture day.

Peter did the same with his shirt.

Ophelia nodded. "Of course, as long as I don't see anything but _A's_." She smiled, feigning sweetness.

Wedndy nodded, holding out her hand, expectantly. "Hand me the report cards, Peter."

Ophelia raised her eyebrows. "What do we say, Wendy?"

Wendy shifted her eyes, then turned to her brother. "Hand me the report cards, Peter, _please?_ "

Ophelia nodded, in approval and watched as her son reached into his pocket and gave his older sister the tell-tale grades.

Wendy then, carefully -yet with a certain element of grace about her- handed them over to her mother.

Ophelia's eyes glazed over Wendy's grades first. All _A's_. She nodded and gave a small smile, in approval. Then, Ophelia silently handed the grades back to her daughter.

She let her eyes run over the grades of her youngest, Peter.

 _History- A_

 _Science- A_

 _History- A_

 _Gym- A_

 _Orchestra- A_

 _English-_

Oh absolutely not.

Ophelia stopped reading at English and looked at her son, a flare of anger in her blue iris'. "A _B_?" She asked, obviously upset.

"It's one _B._ " Peter tried to say. "I don't think your friends'll get too upset-"

"How dare you suggest my only concern is my friend's opinions! As if I'm just some... person who does that sort of thing!" Ophelia shot, defensive.

"I didn't. But I figured you should know-" Peter was cut off by his enraged mother.

"I push you in English so you'll get better results! I don't keep you in that Mrs. Scarlet's class for _B's_!"

"I like Mrs. Scarlet." Peter remarked.

"No you don't, she gave you a _B_." Ophelia looked disgusted at the grade. "After all of my hard work to get you where you are and you want me to take a _B_?"

Wendy watched as her brother hung his head in shame. She rolled her eyes. If she ever called him a baby infront of Ophelia there would be hell to pay. But she did feel bad. It was not easy, being a screw-up. So, she tried to intergect. "But, mother, you know that Peter can't read very well-"

"Don't you say that! My children will not be retards!" There was no excuse in Ophelia's eyes.

"He isn't retarded. He just isn't good at English." Wendy was the definition of calm and she never understood how. Her mother was dramatic, very dramatic and her father was... passionate? No, that was the wrong word.

"A _B_." Ophelia held the defining paper in the air. "Do you realize that we have a reputation in this town?"

"No." Peter admitted.

"Well, we do." Ophelia barely heard what her children said. "We do and I refuse to let anyone see this dreadful excuse for a grade."

"What are we going to do, hide it?" Peter asked.

Wendy face-palmed at her brother's obliviousness.

"No, we're going to change it. I am calling that school immideatley. _This is unacceptable._ " Ophelia replied. This solution seemed to calm her down and she quickly was back to herself again. "Alright, you two have a good day at school. Take lovely pictures for us to frame."

Peter and Wendy nodded, and responded with variations of, Have a good day, mother! Then, they briskly walked out of their expensive, six-story mansion and down to the bus stop on that hot, sunny, September day.

"I've offered to tutor you in English now three times." Wendy reminded him.

Peter nodded. "I know. And I've turned you down now three times."

"Well, let's make it four." Wendy turned to face him.

"Wendy,-"

"I'm serious, Peter." Wendy said. "I want you to have a bright future."

"Really?" Peter asked, hopeful.

Wendy considered this. "Maybe." She admitted. "The point is, I'm going to tutor you and you're going to like it. Alright?"

Peter nodded, defeated. "Yea, ok."

Then, the children's quite popular friends crowded around them -after all, they were the richest kids in school- and chatted with them until the big, yellow bus arrived to drive them to Sherman Elementry.

An hour later, the taxi arrived at 324 Candletop Hill, having passed a startling looking, pink Mercedes twenty minutes prior.

Morticia swallowed, hard and refused to even look at the house until she got close to it. She couldn't, she was afraid of what she would find.

"Alright, Morticia." Jason was still clinging to the hope he could kiss her goodbye, even though she had done nothing but let him rest a light hand on her thigh because he was good. "Here's your stop."

Morticia nodded a _thank you_ , but then did verbally express her gratitude. "Thank you, Jason." She got out of the car and grabbed her luggage. It was incredibly hot, so she removed her cloak and neatly put it into one of her suitcases. Instead, she pulled out a black, vintage umbrella which they had made a pit-stop to get at a small shop downtown, when the sun began to shine.

Jason walked out of the taxi and stepped infront of her, close. "No problem. It was my pleasure."

"How much do I owe you?" Morticia inquired.

"Speakin' of pleasure..." Jason ignored her and went in for a kiss.

Morticia put a delicate hand on Jason's strong chest and backed up a bit. "I believe six hundred should be sufficient. D'accord?"

Jason gulped. "Uh-huh."

Morticia nodded and handed him six hundred dollars. "There you are."

Jason was in disbelief. "Darlin', I thought you was just sayin' six hundred cense funny. But you meant dollas?"

Morticia nodded. "Of course. Thank you for your service, dear." She felt her purse shake and she smacked it, semi-subtly. "However, I really must be going."

Jason put on his best vulnerable, saddened face, his eyes growing large. "Oh, but I was havin' so much fun."

"Mmm, you're going to have to do more than puppy-dog eyes to win me over, Jason." Morticia replied. "Again, thank you for everything." She turned to leave, picking up her luggage.

Jason stepped infront of her again.

"Jason,-"

Jason held up a gentle hand. "Nah, here. My card." He handed her his card.

Morticia took it. "Thank you, dear."

Jason kissed her hand goodbye, tipped his hat and got into the taxi. Then, adjusting his mirror and winking at Morticia, he drove off.

Morticia then turned back, not registering the large estate before her, and instead took Charles out of her purse.

Breathing heavily, a frustrated Charles spoke. "Don't you ever do that to me again!" He writhed in her hand, hissing.

Morticia paid no heed to her snake father's antics. " _Stop that._ Now, I've been meaning to ask you something." Morticia wraps him around her neck. "If you inhabited my female snake's body, are you-"

"I don't know. I didn't study snake anatomy and how it changes when possesed by a spirit." Charles paused. "That was you and your mother, not me."

"I'm sorry, father." Morticia sighed. "Do you want me to address you as a female or a male, someone is bound to ask."

Charles wished he could nod. "If anyone asks, I'm a male snake, I'm five years old and my name is Grimm. Now, let's go."

Morticia rolled her eyes. "Alright." She sucked up the confidence she typically oozed, and walked up to the porch steps.

She froze when she saw the once beautiful mansion she had called home for more than nineteen years straight.

The exterior layout appeared pretty much the same, house-wise. However, it was freshly painted white. The porch steps were neat, and new. They were of white concrete. There was now a white shade-barrier over the porch, and large, prosperous geraniums sat in bright yellow, wooden crates connected to the front of the house. There was a light brown, carefully crafted hammock on the right side, and a white porch swing on the left. Morticia wanted to vomit at the sight of the windows. Light brown blimds or white, flowing curtains -which were not even ripped! One of the sets of curtains, toward the top windows (seemingly the fifth floor) was yellow. God, that colour truly was everywhere, even in this reality. The driveway was freshly paved, and there were three cars. There was a white Jaguar, a bright red, shiny Ferari and a white and pink Tesla. There was a garage, and it was almost as white as the... house.

But what made Morticia want to scream out loud, was the cemetery, if she could even call it that. No longer was it the enchanting, morose scene she had once remembered. No, now it was a large, complicated garden. From what she could see, there was a large willow tree, and hedges intricatley trimmed to be the shape of hearts or cherubs. There was a golden fountain, and liquid gold poured out of it. Brightly coloured roses, tulips and orchids lined the garden. But the hedges were too high, so she could see little else of the large plot of land.

Morticia looked down at her father. And if snakes could grimace in the upmost disgust, this one was indeed doing so.

The cream-coloured, wooden door had a fall wreath with two, fake but realistic-looking doves, nesting cozily inside. Before the door was a brown welcome mat reading, _Home is where the Heart is._

Morticia sighed, readying herself.

"Morticia, everything's going to be fine." Charles said. "I promise. But if you don't ring the doorbell, then you can't get to Gomez."

Morticia nodded. "I know."

"You can't not open the door, for fear of what you might find on the other side. A wise man once told me,-"

Charles stopped speaking when he realized his daughter had already rung the doorbell. He sighed. "Ok, nevermind."

It took two minutes, and Morticia was becoming a bit concerned. Dear lord, had her sister done away with him for money, perhaps? Oh God, or worse? She, as usual, remained stoic through it all. And then, the door opened.

A tall, thin man with a very defined nose and fair skin answered. His hair was black, and neatly kept. He appeared like someone who looked good for fourty. He wore a black and white suit, the kind butlers typically wore. But he wore nothing if not a fake, big smile.

"Good day." The unnamed man's accent was quite obviously British.

"Hello." Morticia gave a nod. "Addams residence?"

"Yes." The man answered. "I am Jeeves, the Addams' butler. Whom, might I ask, are you?"

"I am Ms. Frump. I'm Mrs. Addams' sister."

As soon as Morticia answered, Jeeves' dirt brown eyes grew ten times their size. The butler seemed rather nervous. "They..." He tried to think. "They aren't home. They're on a family vacation in-"

Before Jeeves could answer, someone Morticia knew, and adored, answered the door.

Gomez had thought it was Tully, or perhaps Margaret, coming to discuss plans with him about the charity auction. But he was delighted to see how wrong he was. He was in disbelief that the woman he hadn't seen in almost twenty years was mere feet away. His darkened, lifeless expression he wore like a badge was immideatley given the largest jolt of life like an opposite-electric-chair. Waisting no time, he called to her. "Morticia!"

Jeeves' head snapped around, breifly. "Hello, Mr. Addams! _Oh, no._ " _Oh, no_ , however, was spoken under his breath. And was he ever thankful for that. Jeeves stepped infront of Morticia, spreading his long arms out, blocking her. " _What?_ There is no Morticia here!"

Gomez raised an eyebrow. Needing proof of either Jeeves' statement or his own sanity, he pushed Jeeves out of the way. And there the beautiful woman was, still just as breathtaking.

That dress... it was burned in the back of his brain no matter how much he drank. Those lips and that midnight hair, and... he was getting ahead of himself. And she left, he reminded himself.

"Gomez!" Morticia set her snake and her umbrella down by her purse and the luggage she had dropped and embraced him.

Gomez was very suprised by this reaction, and why she was even here but he decided not to question it. Reluctant to let go of her, they stayed like that for a minute or so.

Morticia had to get her breathing under control. She could not let anything slip. Not yet. So, she did manage her breathing and the pair held eachother's arms, lightly, one studying the other.

Morticia was taken aback, to say the least. She thanked the universe that his colour-scheme was still dark, and he had his alluring mustache and glorious form, still. He was not a completely different man, she hoped. However, could not beleive how much he had changed.

Gomez wore a burgandy shirt, light and short-sleeved so it showed off his muscles. He wore black jeans, black boots and a black Rolex watch. His hair was not slicked back, like she was used to. He looked heart-stoppingly handsome, as always but unlike himself. He always loved his eccentric, wonderful, stylish way of dressing. That Italian part of him was something nothing could really take away, or so she thought. He was a man that took a great amount of pride and liked to put effort into his appearance. But he seemed... a bit broken. Passionless.

Gomez could not help but stare at her. She was gorgeous. Stunning. An elegant angel of darkness, even after all these years. He did not know it was possible for a woman to grow more enchanting as the years passed.

Gomez smiled, barely looking away from the beauty before him. "Jeeves, please take Ms. Frump's things up to our guestroom."

"But, Mr. Addams, do you not think it strange how-"

"To the guestroom, Jeeves." Gomez did not even think about the fact that she came over, with luggage, unannounced and uninvited. "Pick one that has the least amount of colour."

"But, Mr. Addams..." Jeeves gulped. "There's colour in every room."

Gomez waved a dismissive hand. "Well, try your best to find one."

"But, Mr. Addams-"

"Jeeves." Gomez scolded.

Jeeves nodded, hiding his upset by maintaining his composure. "Yes, Mr. Addams." Begrudgingly, but trying not to let it show, he began to lug the heavy bags up the stairs.

"What do we say to Ms. Frump, Jeeves?" Gomez asked as he linked arms with Morticia, ready to show her to the living room.

Jeeves, wanting to keep his job, swallowed down his pride and his lunch. "Nice to finally meet you, Ms. Frump. Ophelia will be... _so suprised._ "

"I'm certain she will." Morticia replied, flashing a small, mysterious smile.

Gomez tried to force his heart not to skip several beats when she did that.

Jeeves continued his descent up the stairs, shaking his head and muttering words that neither of the two people downstairs paid attention to.

Gomez would not admit it, no. Certaintly not. But he was very embarrassed at the state of his house. And he wanted to kick himself for it. For Morticia to see what a mess he probably was for the fact that he let Ophelia do this to his home. _Stop it, old man._ He said to himself. _She left twenty years ago. She left, you raised a family. Stop it. Now._

He led her to the first-floor living room. It was large, with high ceilings.

However, it was nothing at all like Morticia had remembered it, not that she expected it to be. But she had so many memories there... God, it was all too much.

The walls of this living room were ivory with golden victorian designs and a white boarder. The floor was light brown, and wooden. There was a large window with white and gold curtains, drawn, so it was letting in an ungodly amount of sun. _Oh dear, this much light in a room should be illegal_ , Morticia thought. There was a fireplace, but the brick was white. Infront of the fireplace, was a gold and white victorian couch. Beside the couch was a small, white marble table and on the opposite end was an expensive, rose-coloured, flower-designed lamp. All around the room were family pictures that looked too happy, or just pictures of Ophelia. One wall was soley Ophelia and Gomez's wedding pictures. That, above all else, made her ill.

Then, there was a pink, porcelain table and elegant-looking chairs near the window, as well as a pink armchair and a pink chair dangling from the high ceiling, about three feet off of the ground. These chairs were on opposite ends, a bit aways from the couch. They were all the same colour pink.

Gomez led Morticia to the couch and sat down next to her. He looked back at the white ash, large double doors.

"So..." Gomez had no idea what to say. She had been gone so long. Should he catch her up? Should he-

He noticed Morticia shifting uncomfortably. Eventually, she just gave up and gracefully put a hand up.

Gomez remembered at once and bounced up, running to go shut the curtains. "You must forgive me. I'm never in this room. If it were up to me, the curtains wouldn't ever be drawn."

Morticia nodded, squinting. "It's alright, mon-" she paused. Damn it. "Gomez, really. I've been gone, almost twenty years. What can one expect?"

Gomez shut the curtains and walked back over to the couch, sitting down next to the woman who ended up changing his life in the best worst way possible. But here he was, five minutes in, starved for her attention. And it was wrong, very wrong. Very. Very wrong. He had a family, and, he remembered, to his dismay, a wife. And it wasn't her.

"You're right." He said. "Nearly twenty years."

"Yes." Morticia was not used to awkward silence. They never had that. Ever. "You look different."

Gomez chuckled, causing the bats in Morticia's heart to flutter. "You don't."

Morticia looked away, breifly. "Thank you, Gomez." It would break her to meet his eyes, and yet she had to. "You know, I-"

 _"Ahh!"_ They heard a scream, as if someone were being brutally murdered, from upstairs.

"What was that?" Gomez asked, worried.

Morticia put a hand on his leg, reassuringly. But they stared at eachother, awkwardly. Physical contact. So fast. Morticia mentally dismissed this and continued with her original thought. "Oh, don't worry. Jeeves just found Grimm."

Gomez raised an eyebrow. "Who's Grimm?" He asked, and pulled a cigar from his pocket, smoking it.

Morticia was relieved he still smoked. "Grimm is my python. He's just turned five."

Gomez nodded. "Mmm. Makes sense. Dark and beautiful snake for a dark and beautiful woman." _Shut up you bastard, stop flirting with her! What the hell is wrong with you? You ought to be ashamed._ Gomez was not flirting, he reasoned with himself. He was breaking the ice. As it happens, with a battle-axe.

 _"Get it off me!"_ Jeeves screamed. _"Oh, buggars, I'm going to die!"_

Morticia couldn't help but let out a laugh.

Inadvertently, Gomez did to. He shook his head. "Old Jeeves. He's a good man. But funny."

Morticia relaxed a bit. Perhaps she had just imagined the awkward silence. "Oh, yes, I can tell."

"You know," Gomez held the cigar between his fingers. "I would have liked to see you at the funeral."

Morticia was taken by suprise and worry. Funeral? What funeral? Could it be the one she saw before Sensus Inversus set in?

"Who's funeral?" Morticia inquired

It was Gomez's turn to be suprised. He knew that she had been gone a long time but she didn't even remember the death of her own mother? "Why... _Esmeralda's_ , of course."

"I..." Morticia was shocked. Wonderful, in this reality both her parents were dead. She had to get out of this, fast. It hurt immensley that she would have to go through this without her mother, or that she didn't even go to the funeral! What kind of horrible woman was she here? Well, she had to answer him. So, already, she lied. "I was too broken up to attend, but I miss her terribly."

Gomez took her hand. "I'm so sorry. I remember what it was like when my parents passsd on. I would have loved to see you but I don't think you were aware-"

"No." Morticia shook her head. "But I am terribly sorry. I wish the children could have known them better." Fuck. Could she take back words in this reality?

"What?"

"What?" Morticia figured it best to pretend nothing had been said.

The doors then burst open and there, a disshevled looking Jeeves stood. His hair, that had been neatly and thoroughly combed was now thoroughly messed up. Every strand was pointing a different direction. His white gloves were ripping, his black bow-tie was crooked, and he had a bite mark below his ear.

Morticia could only guess that her father did not take to kindly to being man-handled. Either way, he looked... better, actually.

Jeeves clutched the door, out of breath, but it swung. Quickly, he picked himself back up and leaned against the wall. "Do you need... do you need anything, Mr. Addams?"

Gomez looked up at Jeeves. "Jeeves, old man! Have fun wrestling with that snake?"

Jeeves, humiliated and disgruntled, just smiled. If he didn't smile, he would cry. "Oh, yes. It was... an experience." He eyed Morticia.

Morticia spoke. "I appologize, Jeeves. You could have gotten a fair chance if I had told you he bites."

Gomez held back laughter.

Jeeves was not laughing. "Mmm. Yes, well, perhaps you could warn me if you bring any more exotic creatures into this house?"

"Well, then I suppose you should have warned him before you came." Gomez winked at the woman next to him and took a puff of his cigar.

Jeeves pointed and laughed, nervously. "Haha, is there anything you'd like, Mr. Addams?"

"Yes, Jeeves. Would you please bring tea and-" He turned to Morticia. "Sugar, Cream or-"

"Cyanide." Morticia finished.

Jeeves gulped and played with his collar.

Gomez felt awful that he had to tell her they hadn't had cyanide in that house in almost twenty years. "Did you bring any? We're out."

Shocked but saying nothing, Morticia shook her head. "Unfortunatley, no." She turned to Jeeves. "Black tea, please."

"Tea?" Jeeves asked that more to himself. He had just wrestled with a snake, now he had worry upon worry about Ms. Frumps impromptu stay at the estate, and he was going to have to traipse to the kitchen to get tea. Tea. Jeeves nodded. "Tea. Alright, of course, Mr. Addams. Will that be all?"

"Yes, Jeeves, thank you." Gomez once again turned his attention to Morticia.

" _Alright_ , well, I'll be back soon!" He yelled, so as to distract his employer. Anything to distract the man. If Ophelia knew... never he mind. Tea. Tea now, worry later.

After Jeeves left, Gomez put out his cigar and the pair got comfortable once again, moving a bit closer to one another.

"So..." Gomez rested an arm on the couch. "I've had children."

They then caught up and the silence was broken. And after the tea was served, they were talking and joking and it was beautifully macbre.

"So," Morticia took a sip of her tea. "My old aunts used to tease me at weddings. _Well,_ they would say, _do you think you'll be next?_ It was settled quite quickly once I started doing the same to them at funerals."

Gomez laughed.

"True story." Morticia finished.

"Really?" Gomez inquired.

"It's true."

Gomez nodded. "Impressive. Ah, here's one for you. Also true. So, my father often ate dinner with cannibals. I was around ten years old when he offered to take me. Lovely folks, they really are. So, I made sure like any sensible person, that I was invited to consume dinner and not to be the dinner. I was. I went and we had a wonderful time. And so my father compliments one of them and says, _I say, Bill. Your wife makes a great meal!_ " He slapped his knee.

Morticia's laugh was sometimes silent, and this time it mainly was. But she found it quite funny. "Cannibals. They make great dinner hosts."

Gomez pointed. "And great dinner." He laughed.

"Now, this story isn't true. At least not for me, but it is nevertheless humouros." Morticia cleared her throat and set down her yellow, porcelain teacup. "A patient walks into the exam room for his annual physical, and all goes well. So, he goes home. Two days later, he gets a call from his doctor. _Tim, I have good news and I have bad news for you,_ the doctor says. _Which would you like to hear first?_ So, Tim says he would like the good news first. The doctor replies, _Alright. The good news is you have two days to live._ Worried, the patient gasps, _And the bad news?_ The doctor takes a long breath. _Well, Tim... the bad news is I have beem trying to reach you for two days._ "

Gomez got a good laugh out of that one. "Interesting."

"What's interesting?" Morticia asked.

"I think I know where you heard that story."

"My fifth grade teacher, Mr. Redlyn."

"Mmm. Yes, he was Tim's father." Gomez said.

Morticia raised an eyebrow and sipped her tea. "How do you know?"

"Tim was a bully at my high school." Gomez explained. "I recommended him to a doctor, my uncle. He turned up dead, mysteriously a few days later."

Morticia chuckled. "You're terrible."

"Hey, so was Tim." Gomez laughed and held up his hands, in defense.

The pair had completely lost track of time, they realized. As when the door opened for the first time, it was 1:30 pm.

Ophelia had just finished hours of shopping till she all but dropped. She had just gotten her hair done and she had at least ten bags of new clothes with her.

Exhausted, she set the bags down, almost tripping on her white high heels. With the shoes, she wore a low-cut, strapless, short, pastel pink dress with white rose designs on it and a white belt attatched to it. With it, she wore a short, white blazer. Her nails were painted white, and her lips were of a rosie shade. Of course, her wedding ring was on, as always. She had on dangly, pink and white diamond earrings with a matching bracelet and ankle bracelet.

Her pink, _Luis Vitton_ purse slid down her arm as she threw up her hands, happily. "Jeeves!" She called, lightly. "Come take these bags, please!"

Then, she walked into the living room, looking for her husband. Not anyone else. But when she got there...

Ophelia froze, floored.

She gulped. _"Morticia."_


	10. She's Baack

**_Thank you all so much for your continued reviews and support! It means so much to me that people enjoy my work on one of the things I would be nothing without. Well, two: writing and_** ** _The Addams Family_** ** _. I am sick and I may not be able to update so often, but I try as hard as I can. Again, thank you very much and I hope you enjoy the chapter. Let's see, where did we leave off? Ah, yes…_**

Morticia took a sip of her tea and gave a coy smile to Ophelia, the woman whom she once dared consider a sister. "Ophelia, dear." She greeted her. "How are you?"

Ophelia was stunned. She could not believe her eyes. How was it possible? She practically banished her to Paris. Ophelia had made damn sure that she never had to worry about seeing her sister's sickeningly beautiful face ever, ever again. Yet here she was, sipping tea and talking with _her_ husband. Oh, hell no. "How the hell…" She swallowed, hard. She had to be careful. "How did you get here? I… thought you were in Paris?"

Morticia raises her porcelain teacup. "Oh, come now, dear. You didn't think you could get rid of me that easily, now. Did you?" She sipped her tea. Ms. Frump had said this jokingly, but there is a hint of truth in every joke. This hint, happened to be a declaration of war.

Gomez smoked his cigar, and Morticia could not help but steal a glance at the husband, once her's. God, he was breathtaking. When he preformed this simple action, time and all in its unforgiving orbit seemed to stop for Morticia. She watched him take a puff of the expensive thing, smoke flowing out of it, dispersing into the air. However, for what had appeared to be a nonchalant, effortless movement, was in a beautiful, slow motion in Morticia's eyes. She remembered the way he would do that at the table, in Morticia's planthouse, waiting for Tully to arrive, whilst playing chess with Thing. Thing. Another character Morticia had completely forgotten about. Where could he be? Certainly, Ophelia had not let him stay. Had she? Or had she done something worse?

Morticia kept her cool and waited for a response from her devious elder sister, with the maturity level of a flea. _No, wait,_ Morticia thought. _I do not wish to insult the fleas. I'm sure both their intelligence and maturity level are far superior._

Ophelia walked into the living room, _her_ living room, slowly. "No, nothing stops you." She said, upbeat. "Hell, probably not even a semi-truck." Ophelia mumbled.

"Hmm?" Morticia asked.

"What?" Ophelia decided it best to pretend that everything was normal, but when her sister and husband were together, nothing ever was. She hoped Gomez didn't remember and this was all just some sort of ploy. Then again, wasn't it, one was or another?

Ophelia walked over to Gomez and embraced him. "I'm home, darling." She announced, as if her presence was not already known.

Morticia fought the urge to throw up on the spot when Ophelia sat on Gomez's knee, arms around his neck. She could not even clench her teeth but she wanted to scream. Especially when Gomez kissed her.

Morticia hated how miserable Gomez was, but greatly appreciated that he was not happy without her. She had to laugh at Ophelia, as when Gomez kissed her, she smirked. But, Morticia was the one who still had the power.

When Morticia was kissed by her husband, she melted into him, desperate for more. They lost all sense of propriety, they all but made love in front of anyone and everyone. The president of the United States of America could be mere feet away but if Gomez's lips found that spot on her neck… to heaven with George Bush and to hell with Gomez. It was where she wanted to be, they would dance within the flames of each other's hearts, souls and bodies. The fire was hot, and would consume Morticia whole.

Gomez loved her with all his being, his passion for her consumed his heart, and just in the way he looked at her. That adoring gaze, that smirk, those eyes...

It was said once that a picture says a thousand words, and when Gomez looked at her, that statement proved to be true. Those impassioned words of love and terms of endearment were not at all foreign, they were beautiful. _Cara mia, mon amour, eres divina…_

But indeed, when Gomez kissed Ophelia, their _love_ appeared forced. It appeared disingenuous, flashy, feigned.

 _Thank God._ Morticia's mind screamed.

"So, Morticia?" Gomez secured his wife on his lap and immediately turned his gaze back to the enchantress next to him. "How long will you be staying with us?"

Ophelia raised her eyebrows, worried but trying not to show it. Unfortunately, Ophelia was unlike her stoic sister in the sense that she, herself was not. Fortunately, Gomez was not even paying attention to her facial expressions. "Staying?"

Mortician nodded. "Yes, Ophelia. I do hope you don't mind, I've brought a couple of bags. I hadn't really planned on it but nineteen years is a long time- "

"Twenty." Ophelia corrected.

"Not yet." Morticia winked. She was almost done with her cup of tea. "And to answer your question, Gomez," She looked at him. "I was planning on staying in Mockrage for a month."

Gomez looked delighted, but Ophelia looked toward the window, as if jumping out sounded really good right now.

"I hope you aren't expecting to be staying with- "

Ophelia was cut off by Gomez. "Wonderful!" Gomez was so happy, he even embraced Ophelia… _intentionally_. "As you know, Jeeves has set up a guestroom for you. Stay as long as you'd like, Morticia. Our house is your house."

Morticia nodded. She hated watching Ophelia sit on _her_ husband's lap. She hated hearing the phrase, _our house_. _Our house._ Who did Ophelia think she was? It sickened Morticia to her very core to hear Gomez refer to this hellhole as his… as _theirs_.

"Thank you." Morticia managed to say.

"There's no need. We've missed you." Gomez replied, enthralled with her beauty. _Stop it. Stop it, old man. Look at Ophelia. Look at-_

Thankfully, Gomez was done with the coaching for now, as the door opened.

In walked the children, but they looked nothing like the children Morticia had once called her's.

A girl whom looked much like Wednesday, only her hair was a sickening shade of blonde, was the first to walk in. She bared a striking resemblance to Ophelia. To her mother. But her eyes… were Morticia's eyes.

Morticia smiled. _That is one thing, Ophelia, you will never take away from my daughter. Her beautiful dark eyes… my eyes._ She thought to herself.

The girl wore a short, silk, yellow dress that was sleeveless and had a thin, white belt around it. The girl wore white flats, her nails were painted white and she wore her hair in a French braid, pushed over her right shoulder.

The boy was pudgy, and thankfully still had his light brown hair. Only it wasn't spiky, and this saddened his moth- aunt. This saddened his aunt immensely. He wore a nice, clean white shirt and new, blue, spotless jeans. He wore white socks, brown, recently-purchased sneakers and… a gold Rolex watch! Morticia grimaced internally. He was eight. Years. Old.

The children stared at their aunt, confused. They had never seen someone like her. But perhaps that was due to the fact that there was no one like her. Morticia looked straight out of a gothic painting. Bewitching, and admittedly, frightening.

Morticia, poised and elegant, sat, upright, saying nothing.

Peter decided to break the silence. "Father, you're holding mother." He observed, then laughed. "What's the occasion?"

Gomez was about to laugh but after a cold glance from his wife, he thought it best not to.

Ophelia cleared her throat, getting up and walking over to her children. "Kids, this is your…" She sighed. "This is your aunt Morticia."

Wendy said nothing, just kept staring.

It broke Morticia to know her offspring did not recognize her. But she had to remind herself that they were not her offspring at the present. They were Ophelia's. And right now, she was their aunt, whom they had never laid eyes upon.

"Aunt?" Peter was confused.

Wendy, knowing but not telling, cast a glance at Peter and shared a look with her father. The look was of two people who knew a secret, a secret less on the spectrum of where one hid the Christmas presents, and more on the spectrum of where one his the recently murdered corpse.

Peter nodded and Gomez simply smoked the fine cigar. He never did seem to run out of those, no matter what reality he was forced into.

"I didn't know we had an aunt." Wendy instantly remarked. The words seemed scripted, in her mind. But in actuality, sounded innocent enough. Much like herself.

Morticia was a bit disheartened, however she understood. It was better, she assumed, that she start with a blank slate than a broken one.

"Yea, me neither." Peter added.

Morticia stood up and folded her hands, looking down at the children. "Hello, children. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

Ophelia grabbed their shoulders and held them back, as if they were going to hug her. And would that be so bad? To Ophelia, yes, it would.

"Yea…" Wendy seemed not to care for this woman, even though she barely knew her. Perhaps it was not that for lack of caring, but rather for lack of knowing, or knowing too much. "Well, it was nice meeting you."

"Wait, can't we-" Peter was cut off by his older sister.

"We have homework to do." Wendy explained. "Sorry, Aunt Morticia." She grabbed Peter's arm but Ophelia had them stay put.

"Wait, stay here for a moment."

Peter nodded while his sister reluctantly agreed.

Ophelia, whilst giving her sister side-eye, decided to kick Morticia's beaten heart, and walked right up to Gomez. She pulled him off of the couch and he stood up, confused.

"Have my couch rights been taken?" Gomez raised an eyebrow. He was treated like a house pet, and the answer, _yes_ , would not surprise him in the slightest.

Peter laughed but Ophelia, keeping tight reins on her family, cast him a _watch it_ glance and watch it he did.

"No, silly." Ophelia had not been this upbeat since Gomez slipped the ring on her finger.

And those were memories Gomez had tried to block out for twenty years.

Ophelia continued, much to her sickened and annoyed sister's dismay. "We're going out on a date."

Gomez wanted to shrivel up and die- _No you don't, old man. No, you, don't. You just don't think it wise to go out because you know what godforsaken restaurant she'll- because Morticia is here. It would be very disrespectful to just leave her hear alone with Jeeves and my children. There you go._ "Ophelia, I don't believe that's too wise."

Offended, Ophelia spoke. "Pardon?"

Gomez took her hands. "Ophelia, we cannot just leave Morticia hear alone with our butler and our children."

Ophelia raised an eyebrow. "Mmm. Really? News to me."

"What?" Gomez asked, as politely as he could.

 _Remember, you have an audience._ Ophelia reminded herself. "You said it yourself. Our house is her house."

Gomez saw what she was doing, and didn't like it. And usually, he would let this whole thing go. But with Morticia here… "Precisely. When was the last time you left Lana and the girls- "

"Linda." Ophelia corrected, sourly.

"Linda and the girls," Gomez continued. "Alone with the kids and Jeeves?"

Ophelia was taken aback, but maintained her composure. Then, she did something that shocked everyone in the room. "That was an insult to my…" Ophelia squeezed Morticia's shoulders, making Morticia want to vomit. " _dear_ sister, Gomez. She is a lot different than Linda and the girls."

Gomez pressed a hand to his forehead, and noticed how uncomfortable Morticia looked, able to read her statuesque movement and stoic face rather well. He gave a small smile, out of Ophelia's view. His big eyes screamed, _fuck- shoot me_. Was all Gomez thought. _I'm ready to die._ He grimaced, exaggeration not typically being his M.O.

Morticia knew what her sister was doing. She understood she was playing a game. And no way was she about to be on the losing end. One-upping her, instantly, she said, "Oh, it's quite alright, Ophelia." Morticia moved out of her sister's tight grip and towards the children.

Gomez couldn't help but watch the sway of her hips as she walked by. God, he just… needed fresh air. Yes, perhaps going out would do him some good after all. No, he still didn't wish to leave Morticia. Here. He didn't wish to leave Morticia here. By herself. Without him or anyone else. Company. He didn't want… his head was spinning.

"Gomez," Morticia looked at him. "I can sit for the children while Jeeves cleans. It's really the least I can do for all of the trouble that Grimm put him through."

Gomez was about to object but Ophelia raised a hand and spoke first. "Who the hell is-" She caught herself. "Who's Grimm?"

Gomez took the cigar out of his mouth. "Her snake." He answered.

Tired, the children, unnoticed, sat on the stairs.

Ophelia raised her eyebrow at him. "Mmm." She nodded, disgusted and turned her attention back to her sister. "Well, that is very kind of you, Morticia. However, you've never had kids." She knew that jab was more like a stab with the world's largest kitchen knife.

Morticia would be damned if she was going to be left to bleed out. "Are you implying that I couldn't handle it? I mean, you've never had a job but you seem to be fitting right in to the position of pastel-floral-white-picket-fence mother." She paused, her eyes shifting from her to a bemused and bewitched Gomez. "And wife."

Ophelia hid her offense. "No. Not at all. If you think you can handle it?"

"Don't be preposterous, dear." Morticia replied. "I know I can."

Ophelia nodded. "Well, alright, then." She adjusted her blazer. "Come on, Gomez." She handed her husband his jacket.

Gomez still appeared reluctant. He turned to Morticia, and put out his cigar. "Morticia, really. I don't want to put out- put _you_ out." Gomez caught himself. "I really don't want to put you out."

"What a shame." Morticia could not hide the flirtation in her already alluring voice.

Ophelia's blood was reaching its boiling point. "No, he certainly doesn't."

 _Well, at least not with you._ Morticia wanted to say. But, she held her tongue in that regard. "Oh, I believe it." She winked at Gomez. "I've offered to help, you wouldn't be putting me out at all."

"If you'd like to go anywhere," Gomez began. "I want- I _wouldn't want_ to tie you up." Gomez wanted to kill himself.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Really?" She questioned.

Ophelia's eyes enlarged, knowing what her sister was implying. "No! Not at all, Morticia. You said the word and we stay."

Morticia nodded exactly once. "Go."

Ophelia nodded and practically dragged Gomez out.

Morticia locked the door behind the pair and walked towards the children on the stairs. "Well, when I was your age, I hated sitting on the stairs and not doing anything."

The children exchanged a look, as if asking one how the other felt about this.

"And," Morticia added. "I didn't have anyone to play with."

"What about mother?" Peter asked, curious.

Morticia was happy that at least one of them was trying to converse with her. She sat on the second to bottom step, below the children. "Oh, we were into… different things."

Peter cocked his head to the side, questioningly. "What kind of things were you into?" He asked.

Morticia's eyes shifted. "Well…"

Gomez and Ophelia sat at the restaurant all the wealthy and elite of Briarwood, Massachusetts ate at. The classy, brightly lit restaurant with stain glass windows, white tablecloths and yellow napkins. The entire place looked like an enchanted fairy garden. This place, was nonother than _Sunset Paradise_.

Gomez read the menu which he had read one hundred times before, and still, could not find anything edible. One would think after his umpteenth time coming to _Sunset Paradise_ , he would have found one thing he liked, but no. He found no trace of 'food' he deemed edible.

Still, he had to eat, so he thought he might ask for the special.

While waiting for the order and having to keep up appearances, Ophelia put out her hand, and Gomez, still looking at the menu, took it.

"Still looking?" Ophelia inquired.

Gomez shook his head. "Not anymore, Ophelia."

Ophelia nodded. "Good. I'm getting the House Salad, how about you?"

Gomez wondered why on earth she tried to make the most basic of dinners sound like the most fascinating thing since Area 51. "I'm going to ask for the special."

Ophelia rolled her eyes, a smile on her face so if people were looking, they thought she was laughing and not unraveling. "Gomez," Her voice became quiet. "Again? This is Sunset Paradise. They do not have squid, darling. They never will have squid. This isn't…" Ophelia tried to think of a colourful phrase to turn, but she was never able to. "A place that serves squid."

Gomez half-nodded. "Perhaps they just might have come to their senses and started serving squid."

Ophelia gave a small _piff_ , as a sarcastic chuckle. "Yea, the day hell freezes over." She replied.

Gomez shrugged and decided to talk about the one thing that made his day. "So, your sister is back."

"She is." Ophelia nodded, hesitantly. "And so am I." She quickly added.

Gomez looked confused. "Umm, from where?"

Ophelia seemed hurt. "My shopping trip, darling." She reminded him.

It was Gomez's turn to chuckle. "That was hours ago."

"So, it isn't important?" Ophelia _humphed_. "Morticia came back hours ago too, if you wish to get technical."

Gomez sighed and shook his head. "No, I don't."

"You know what else is coming up?" Ophelia had a dreamy look in her eyes.

Gomez was getting that sick feeling again. "Hmm?"

"Our anniversary." Ophelia smiled, her words having been said in a sing-song-sort-of voice.

"Oh. That's…" He tried to form a word. "Impressive."

The thin, blonde waitress, probably no more than twenty years old, walked to Mr. and Mrs. Addams' table. "Hello, I hope your having a lovely time at Sunset Paradise." Ugh, her statement was much too perky.

"Thank you, we are." Ophelia squeezed Gomez's hand.

The waitress smiled. "Well, I'm Rose. I'll be taking your order today." She brought out her black notepad, and Gomez was glad it was not pink, glittering and/or shimmering. "What can I get you?"

Gomez gestured to Ophelia, in a gentlemanly manner.

Ophelia noticed this Rose wink at her husband and did not know whether to reprimand her or give her a tip. She saw too much of herself in the flirtatious girl. Still, she was pissed and decided to do both when Rose least expected it. "Yes, I'll take the Whore-" She had to correct herself. "House Salad." Ophelia said. "And a refill on my ice water."

Rose wrote the order on her notepad. "Mmm-hmm." She turned to Gomez. "And for you, sir?"

Gomez responded quickly. "I was wondering what your special was?"

"Funny you should ask." Rose laughed. "We're trying it out but it doesn't seem to be doing too well." She paused, and made a whisper hand motion. "But, I think it's really good."

Gomez pondered this, wondering what is was. "Really? What is it?"

Ophelia's eyes enlarged at Rose's words.

"Squid."

For the past three hours, Morticia had been playing with the children.

At first, it started off small. Morticia had explained to the children that she had a fascination with beheading dolls. So, they took an American Girl doll that Wendy never played with. Morticia heated up a large kitchen knife, expertly -as she had no guillotine, to her unsurprised dismay- and taught the children how to chop the head clean off. They were stand-offish at the beginning, but Peter soon jumped right into it, although Wendy was still a bit closed-off.

After that, Morticia lit a couple of matches and they played with fire for the first time. Well, Peter did, at least. Wendy was as usual, reluctant but got into it quickly.

They snuck around the house, worried Jeeves would have Morticia's head if he knew what she was doing, and they even met Grimm, who was very happy about the attention that didn't involve a pompous British man's aggression.

At dinner, Jeeves prepared homemade mac n' cheese as apparently _Kraft_ was too low for the children.

Morticia grimaced. Mac n' cheese, of all the world's sickening concoctions. God, these poor children. Hell, poor her. She had to eat it up, just like everybody else, not having the proper ingredients for anything she needed. It took all she could do to not vomit.

Finally, three hours had passed, and it began to rain outside, but it was that warm weather with wet rain that conflicted one's conscious. Do they wish to go outside in their perception of good bad weather? Or stay in due to their perception of bad good weather?

Morticia watched the children watch Sponge Bob on the couch and decided it best to fix their faces, which looked much to perky to be real.

She cleared her throat. "Children? Why don't you go outside and play? Now, I understand that I've only just come into your lives, but you look like society's version of happy and it's worrying me." Morticia said, honestly.

Peter looked up at Morticia, then outside. "Aunt Morticia, it's raining."

Wendy sighed. "I believe she understands that, Peter."

Peter nodded, understanding. "Oh."

Morticia spoke. "Yes, I do. I played in the rain all of the time as a child."

Wendy was now more worried than ever.

Peter, on the other hand, was fascinated.

"Children, for some reason, you have a playground in your backyard. But, I'm going to ask you to make the most of it." Morticia said.

"So, you want us to play, outside… in the rain?" Wendy's tone made this suggestion seem strange.

"Yes. In fact, when I was a child, and a storm was coming, I used to take a weather rod with my father and we would hold it in the sky to…" She paused, realizing the children were lost beyond belief. "Never mind."

Peter eyed Wendy, pleading.

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Come on. Let's go."

The children then ran through the screen door in the very large family room, and into the large garden backyard.

Morticia smiled inside and called to them, "Make sure to stay away from low places!"

A half an hour later, Ophelia and Gomez arrived home.

Ophelia was the first in the door. "I'm home!" She called.

Gomez dragged behind her and closed the door. "And so am I." He stated, not feeling the need to announce it to presumably an empty first floor.

They walked into the family room, to find… nobody.

"Morticia!" Gomez called.

Ophelia heard laughter coming from outside and both she and her husband walked out.

Gomez smiled at the sight before him. His children were climbing a tree, while Morticia sat at their umbrella-patio, reading The Shining.

Gomez lightly tapped her on the shoulder.

Morticia looked up and saw him. "Gomez, how was your date?"

Gomez sighed. "It was…" Before he could formulate a response, Ophelia was dragging the children into the house.

Morticia looked over to the scene, then to Gomez. "Did I do something wrong?"

Gomez put a hand atop hers. "No, of course not." Anxious, he walked back into the house, Morticia following him.

Ophelia was in the kitchen with her family, leaning against the counter. "What were you thinking?" She asked them.

"We were just having fun." Peter replied.

Ophelia crossed her arms. "Explain to me how pneumonia is fun?"

Morticia would not have believed what she was hearing had Ophelia not been the one to ask the question. "Ophelia, there is no reason to be angry. I told them how much fun I used to have in the rain when I was a child."

Ophelia was going to say more, but Gomez spoke, a hand on Morticia's shoulder. "Darling, the kids need to be exposed to more than just the sun."

 _I will. Not. Lose._ Were the only words running through Ophelia's mind when she swallowed her pride and sent the children to go change their clothes.

Ophelia smiled, hiding her unforgiving annoyance, at her husband and sister. "I'm going to go change into my evening clothes." She kissed Gomez before walking out of the kitchen.

Gomez looked, sympathetically at Morticia.

"Thank you." Morticia said.

"No need to thank me, Morticia. You were right." Gomez replied, and soon walked out of the kitchen, just as Ophelia had.

Long after dinner, the family was all getting ready for bed, and soon they were.

Morticia, now as comfortable as she could be, turned the living room lights off and had the room lit by instead a single candle.

In her long nightgown, which extended down past her ankles, that was low-cut, formfitting, silk and most importantly, black, Morticia lied on the couch. Then, she began to pick up where she left off in The Shining.

Charles then materialized to bid his daughter goodnight. He hugged her.

Morticia set her book down and sighed.

"Are you going to be okay, darling?" Charles asked. "I can sleep in the guestroom with you, you know. I have no problem with-"

"I'll be fine, father." Morticia assured him.

Charles nodded. "Alright, dear." He yawned. "We'll talk more in the morning, Morticia." He kissed her forehead. "I'll be in the attic if you need anything."

Morticia gave a graceful, silent yawn. "You'll find me if you do."

Charles began to walk up the stairs. "Rest in peace."

"Father?"

"Lovely night terrors." Charles, tired, bid her.

"Father?"

"I love you." Charles said.

Morticia tried again. "Father?"

"Yes, what is it?" Charles asked.

"You don't have to walk."

Charles realized this, then. "Oh," He laughed. "Guess I don't."

"I love you." Morticia said.

She then stayed on the couch, even after her father left. She couldn't sleep. It was so hard, nay impossible for her to sleep when she was not in Gomez's arms. The way they effortlessly wrapped around her body. The way his hands could perfectly trace every curve, every inch of her. The way he would rub her back and sing to her. Quite the transition, that… to Stephen King on the couch in an infected living room with the worst disease known to mankind… Ophelia.

She heard footsteps, then, descending the stairs and turn to see the silhouette of a man. A tall, strong man… she knew it was Gomez in a second.

He stepped closer to her light, and she saw that he wore black pajama bottoms, his red, silk robe and black slippers.

"Morticia?'

Morticia turned to her side and sat up. "Gomez, it's late." She said. "Shouldn't you be…" not _with your wife_ , she could not bare to say that. Morticia swallowed, hard. "In bed?"

Gomez shook his head. "No, Morticia. I couldn't go to sleep without bidding you goodnight." He bent and kissed her hand.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "You're still in the habit of kissing the hands of ladies, I see."

"You're more than a lady." Gomez responded. _Think of something, quick, old man, think. You fool! How will you get yourself out of this one?_ "You're family." He said.

Morticia held back every tear she wished to fall and merely nodded. "Goodnight, Gomez."

"Goodnight, Morticia." Gomez began to walk up the stairs, but something stopped him. He turned back to her. "And I am very happy you're back." He then finished his ascent up the long flight of stairs… made to be white all those twenty years ago.

Then, quiet as a mouse, Morticia walked up the stairs, herself.

Unbeknownced to Morticia, she was indeed being watched. And the pompous British man may have very well been just that. But to a certain someone, he was much more.

Morticia walked into Peter's bedroom.

It was white, with a brown, hardwood floor. He had a blue boarder and blue bedsheets with cloud designs on them. His dresser was brown, and he had a walk-in closet.

Wendy was sitting in a white, wooden rocking chair. She wore a lilac, silk nightgown, down to her ankles. It had spaghetti straps and white lace lining the top and bottom. Her hair was down and thoroughly brushed through. Her slippers matched her nightgown.

She was reading to Peter, Cinderella, and he wore a white, long sleeved pajama shirt with matching pajama bottoms.

Upon seeing Morticia, Wendy jumped and shoved the story under Peter's bed, and Peter got under his covers.

Wendy hopped up out of the chair. "I was just leaving."

Morticia, not questioning her further, stopped her. "I just came in to apologize for everything that went on today. You children did not deserve to be chastised the way you were."

Wendy nodded. "Apology accepted." She muttered before leaving.

Morticia tucked Peter in, then, and he smiled.

"For what it's worth, I had a great time chopping of Cassie's head."

"As did I." Morticia responded.

Peter looked up at his aunt. "You're strange."

Morticia gave a small smile, and waited for Peter to say more.

He did. "I like you."

Morticia, before exiting, replied that she liked him too.

And as she walked to her guestroom, all she could think about was how much she missed her boy. And this, this new aunt/nephew relationship she was forced into was indeed a start. As his once mother, now aunt, he liked her. And she would have to settle for that right now.

She turned off her lights and did not bother to study the décor around her. She saw a king-sized bed, and she crashed down on the sheets, exhausted.

She got under the covers, and got into a sleeping position, much like that of a corpse. Then, she imagined Gomez, signing to her and holding her, and soon it was so real, it faded into her dreams. And dream she tried to, all through that lonely, first night.


	11. Oh, Dear

Ophelia knew something had to be done the moment her sister re-entered their twisted lives. She worked and waited for twenty years to be Mrs. Addams, her sister had one day and poof, Gomez's heart and body were stolen in one night, and she had to hear it.

She had to hear all of it, and it disgusted her. That night, that first night when Morticia played the victim, talking about how terrible Ophelia was. Telling Gomez that she locked her in the closet, that she told the entire school that Morticia murdered the family dog. Well, she did, damn it. She did and, and above everything else, she took what she wanted. No, what she _needed_.

Ophelia may not have liked her sister, but she had to admit that she could have any man she wanted. No matter how frightening or stoic they thought Morticia, if seduced, they would be gone. She knew it. But yet, all those twenty years ago, she had to seduce the one man that Ophelia needed. She had to seduce Gomez Addams.

God, it was an awful sight and Ophelia grimaced at the memories. The way he would kiss her, whisper those ridiculous Spanish names to her, the way he- if Morticia asked for the world in a box, he would either get it for her or die trying. It disgusted her immensely. How was it possible that one man, _one man_ loved _Morticia_ , of all people like that?

By the beauty standards of all the men, and women, in Mockrage, Ophelia was it. Her build was small, her hair was blonde, her skin was fair. She was perfect, enviable. But compared to her sister, she was… average, beauty-wise. Ophelia had been called beautiful, desired (only ever physically, but nonetheless desired), she had been showered with gifts by boyfriend after boyfriend. And when she met the one man who didn't want her, he ended up being the one man she would gladly spill her own blood for. Why? His money.

Yes, Gomez Addams and the enormous fortune he sat on. Ophelia's own mother, Esmeralda Frump, once said that _if Mr. Addams paid to send each individual member of the Addams clan to Harvard two hundred times, he would still have enough money to provide a decent life for a family of seven, and send all of them to the moon, twice._ And that was just his personal account.

Ophelia needed him, desperately. Him and his fortune. The lifestyle it would provide her would be a dream, living in the lap of luxury, never having to work a day in her life. Presents and a butler and high social standing once she fixed up that odd family. But, there was just one problem with that fantasy, soon -she thought- to be reality: Mr. Addams didn't want her. He wanted her macabre, stoic, bewitching, younger sister. _Yea, bewitching,_ Ophelia had thought. _A bewitching little bitch._

Her sister had not a thing to do in order for Gomez to fall for her. All she had to do was look into his eyes, with that illusive gaze that -while it made Gomez's heart beat faster- made Ophelia want to smash her head into a brick wall. It wasn't fair, not at all. How dare her sister take what she never even deserved? She took everything, and what's more? Morticia, still, had Gomez at her feet, willingly.

So, in a way, she had to enact Sensus Inversus, to even the score. Yes, that was true. She had to. Of course she did. She had to, to even the score. After twenty years of suffering, ten of which were spent, dancing in a cage, and living it up with men ranging from ages twenty-five to sixty-five, Ophelia deserved it. Her body was in good shape, but certainly was no longer going to get her far. It was not going to get her that fortune, that title. A beautiful body can belong to anyone, but not Gomez Addams.

Then, then, after everything was going perfectly, Morticia had to show up and ruin it all. She had to come in and look at Gomez. That was it. Gomez, whether he liked it or not, was Ophelia's. But when Morticia came back, she knew she lost him. She lost him to the Rosewood town weirdo. That, unsurprisingly, did not set well with her. No, not at all. Gomez would remain Ophelia's. Gomez, and that beautiful fortune down in the… basement.

Ophelia, when confident that Gomez was asleep, slowly got out of bed and silently walked out of the bedroom, the door shutting behind her without a creak.

She walked down the long hallway in her short, strappy, silk, yellow nightgown, lined with white lace. Carefully, she studied the pictures lining the walls, and most of them were of her. There were photo-shoot-like pictures, and paintings. Some were of her and her family, or her and her husband, which she admittedly wished there were more of now that Morticia was here. The light brown, wooden hardwood was newly polished, and the boarders of the cream-coloured hallway walls ranged from floral to pastel. Almost nothing, which was unusual, even for someone unlike Morticia, in that entire estate was black. Almost nothing, except for parts of the library.

Gomez, for whatever reason, had forbade Ophelia to go near that library with her paint brush and fix-it tools. And, for whatever reason, Ophelia had actually listened. However, she was not going to dare let the girls set foot there. They hadn't the slightest notion that Ophelia even had one. So still, after a nearly two decades… that library remained untouched by anyone in the house but her husband.

She continued down the long hallway, smiling at her pictures. God, if only her husband knew about those tummy tucks and _mommy makeovers_ she had gotten after she pushed out his children. Unlike his former, forgotten wife, Ophelia's body was not kind to her. Perhaps it was karma for everything she had put it through. After all, screwing half the town at such a young age did not make for a comfortable person.

Morticia, on the other hand, had quickly lost the extra baby weight after she had the children. It was not terribly hard, even after Pugsley, which was easily her hardest pregnancy. Not that Gomez had thought any less of her radiant beauty either way, he loved her with everything he had. He would always find her irresistible, no matter what. And that did infuriate Ophelia to no end.

She walked down the stairs, the same light hardwood as the floor, to the fourth floor. The hallways were the same throughout the house. However, the frames on the pictures varied from white marble, (rose) golden porcelain and diamond to gold, antique Victorian-style frames with intricate designs. But those frames, the Victorian ones, were mostly saved for all of Ophelia's solo pictures.

Then, soundlessly, she passed the doors of her children. Their doors were white, and across from one another. Both doors were white, with crystalline handles. Their names, in calligraphy-style font, were painted on the door, centered in the middle. Wendy's name was painted on in a pastel pink shade, and Peter's in a baby blue.

She did not bother checking in on them, as she continued walking and crept down the stairs to the third floor, where her butler's bedroom was.

She knocked on the eggshell door three times, and Jeeves understood who it was.

Quick and quiet, Jeeves opened the door, and shut it behind his mistress when she walked in. "Mrs. Addams." He gave a nod, greeting her. He wore a cotton, white nightshirt, down to his ankles with buttons at the top, and a matching cap, which Jeeves removed in Mrs. Addams' presence.

Ophelia looked around the room.

Its floor was white wood, while its walls were lilac with a white wooden boarder, and silver floral patterns painted on the boarder. The double bed was seemingly comfortable, with grey, cotton bedsheets and fluffy pillows. The closet was an average-sized walk-in, and the dresser was mahogany wood. There was a small television atop the dresser. Jeeves could not hide from Ophelia, even in his bedroom. Her photos were there, lining one wall, staring at him, boring holes into his shallow soul. By the door was a black coatrack, as Jeeves had purchased it. A hat and navy-blue trench coat hung on the rack, as if Jeeves were going anywhere any time soon.

"Are we alone?" Ophelia asked, studying the fish -some exotic, like the Amazonian puffer and some quite commonplace, such as his clownfish, Nemo- in the small tank near Jeeves' bed.

"Apart from Wayne, Jade and Nemo?" Jeeves chuckled, but Ophelia returned his humour with a cold, serious glance. Jeeves abruptly stopped laughing. "Yes."

"That's what I wanted to know. Not the names of your fish." Ophelia stepped closer to him, waiting.

Jeeves was ready to begin perspiring, he was so nervous. Twenty years of making more than he would be if he were working for the white house, and now it all might come crashing down, because her sister had to rain on the parade. He did not know what was so important, he did not know why Ophelia hated her younger sister so.

 _"_ _Jeeves?" Ophelia had said to him, about nineteen years ago now, "Should my younger sister, Morticia A. Frump ever come to stay… be alert. Should I be there when she comes, if she comes… be afraid. Because then, I am going to need you."_

Jeeves and Ophelia then sat on his bed, apart from each other yet sitting upright, as professional as one can get on a bed.

"So… your sister is back." Jeeves said.

Ophelia shot him a hateful look. "Are you trying to be smart with me?"

"No, Madame, of course not." Jeeves replied, nervous. "But, she _is_ back. Is she not?"

Ophelia gave a small nod. "She is."

"And?"

"And I need you." Ophelia looked him in the eyes.

"For?" Jeeves questioned.

"You know what for."

"No." Jeeves shook his head. "Truly, I don't. What is it about your sister that is so awful?" He inquired. "Besides her obvious… oddness."

"She is a despicable human being. She tried to seduce Gomez in the past, and I don't know if it worked. She left for Paris years ago, but I have always suspected her of-"

"Stop." Jeeves held up a hand. "Please, tell me the truth, Madame. How can you expect me to remain loyal to you if you start out our teamwork with a lie as to how it truly began?"

"Very well." So, Ophelia did tell him. She told Jeeves the real truth, the truth that no one knows. She told him of how her sister stole the man she wanted, the woes of her life, the trials she faced, the almost-murder in the library, the trial… and her moving away, for twenty years, and this -the relationship, the money, even Jeeves' position- had only been created mere days ago. "And now she is back. She is back and she will not undo what I've created. I have Gomez, I have children and I have… you." She looked him up and down and put a hand on his thigh.

Jeeves grew uncomfortable, confused and wondering if his mistress was indeed willing to be just that, to get what she wanted. "Yes, you do." He felt beads of sweat form near his brows.

"And I intend to keep it that way." Ophelia smirked. "Now, tell me what you've seen."

"Well, Mrs. Addams, she was indeed flirtatious. They drank tea together and talked for hours. And he could not stop staring at her with a gaze almost… _very,_ " Jeeves decided. "Hungry. Yet, adoring. I don't know how it could be possible to adore someone you -in this reality-" He added quickly. "You hardly know. But he looks like he does. And every word out of his mouth directed at her is delivered so smoothly, almost like he is trying to take her right there with his words."

Syllable after syllable that Jeeves spoke made Ophelia want to shoot her sister and watch her bleed out ten times over.

"He looks like he loves her."

 _Twenty._

"When you told me of what your sister did to him that night, when you knew she had to be rid of…" Jeeves thought for a moment. "Well, you can take the man out of the life, but you cannot take the life out of the man."

 _Thirty._

"With all due respect, Madame, I would not be surprised if she was seducing him as we speak.

 _Destroy every trace of the bitch._

"Vindictive little whore." Ophelia muttered.

"Pardon?" Jeeves asked.

"That's all you've seen?" Ophelia was holding back her anger as much as she could.

"That, and a snake." Jeeves told her. "But I don't see- "

"A snake?" Ophelia inquired, curious. Her sister was a witch, after all. What if this snake was… more? One can never be to careful about these things. But most, never have to worry about these things.

"Yes, Mrs. Addams. It bit me right here." Jeeves craned his neck and showed her the mark.

"Mmm…" Ophelia nodded. "Jeeves, I need you to listen to me, carefully."

Jeeves nodded. "Yes?"

"Be subtle, say not a word to a soul -or to Morticia, obviously-" Even now, when her sister was not here, Ophelia had to take a stab at her. "I want you to watch her. Watch her like a hawk. But like a…" Ophelia tried to think of the right word. "Like a really subtle hawk." She said, terrible at similes.

Jeeves, afraid and desperately wanting to keep his job, nodded. "I will." Was all he said.

"I know you will." Ophelia inched closer to him, so close to the point where she was at her uncomfortable butler's ear. "I trust you." A manipulator, a very, very good manipulator.

Jeeves smiled. "You…" he gulped. "You do, Mrs. Addams?"

"Of course, I do." Ophelia replied. "You'd never be disloyal to me, would you?"

"As long as you keep me busy." Jeeves replied, hastily.

"I promise." Ophelia practically whispered. Then, like a daisy, she sprung up and off of the bed. Then, she opened the door back out to the hallway. "Remember what I told you, Jeeves."

"About keeping me busy or about keeping the secret?" Jeeves put his nightcap back on and laughed, nervously.

Ophelia winked at him. "Both, dear."

Trying to be the fox her sister was, she nearly tripped closing the door. But Jeeves was too nervous to notice.

She then began to walk up the stairs, thinking of her next move. Morticia wanted Gomez, and Ophelia wanted money. In turn, needing Gomez. Gomez was Morticia's oxygen, and wealth, sex and power was Ophelia's. So, what to do about this problem? Ophelia knew the answer.

She knew she had to buy their time, at least until their anniversary passed. For whatever reason, Ophelia felt after the anniversary, it would all be over. And one way or another, she was right.


	12. The Most Elite

**_Hello, everyone! I hope your New Year was wonderful and I am so sorry that is has been ages (at least that is how it feels) since I've updated. I just got through with surgery and could not sit up with my laptop for a while. But, I am back now and so excited to continue with this story! I cannot thank you enough for your reviews and continued support. It truly does mean the world to me. Now, where were we? Oh, now I remember…_**

Chapter 12: The Most Elite Women of the Highest Social Standing Alive Today in Briarwood, Massachusetts… and The Witch

Morticia awoke from a restless slumber, if she could even call it that. This was how she had woken up for the past four days now. She hated it.

She missed the feeling of falling asleep while Gomez cradled her in his strong, protective arms. Every night, she would thank the universe that she had him, there with her, for all eternity… or so she thought.

Her sister, her very own flesh and blood (no matter how much Morticia despised that fact, Ophelia was indeed her flesh and blood), had stolen him away from her. So now, every night since Sensus Inversus set in, the only thing Morticia could do was wait. Wait, and hope that Gomez would come find her and bid her goodnight. Because, if Morticia could not be held in his arms that night, at least she could have a fresh memory of his face… and perhaps, she could pretend he was with her.

Morticia's eyes fully fluttered open, and she glanced at the clock on her guest bedroom wall.

The guest bedroom was large, but not nearly as large as the master bedroom located on the fifth floor, a floor above where she slept. Its wallpaper was cream coloured, with a wooden boarder of the same colour as the floor. The floor, was of a darker wood than most of the house. The bed was king sized, and comfortable enough. However, it might as well have been a piece of cardboard with Gomez not sharing the mattress with her.

That was all it was, Morticia realized that first night. A mattress. Just a mattress. Gomez and those beautiful memories had made their old marital bed just that. A bed. A beautiful, comfortable, safe, bed. But that was the thing. As long as he was there, a piece of cardboard could be a bed. It was not on their old mattress that Morticia used to feel safe. It was in their old bed that she felt nothing could ever happen to her. And their old bed, she understood then, could have been anywhere. Because the only thing Morticia ever needed to sleep, and sleep safely, was her husband. He could make a bed, he did, make a bed. He made her bed, her bed of roses- no. No, Morticia hated those blasted petals. Gomez made her bed, her bed of _dead roses_ , and she would willingly throw herself in and at that bed for the rest of eternity, and even after that. But that bed was gone. That bed was something only she and Gomez could ever have. Now, the bed that Morticia slept in was not a bed at all. It was simply a mattress. Just, a well-dressed, mattress.

The satin sheets of the mattress were ivory with grey, Victorian designs covering them. There was a medium-sized, dark brown, wooden headboard. Encircling the bed, was a silk, off-white canopy that Morticia typically had pulled back. By the wooden door with a diamond handle, there was a grey and white vanity-type dresser with white crystal handles. The curtains at the large window were white, which Morticia was -by now- all together sick of seeing, and the room came equipped with a walk-in closet.

Morticia grimaced. Was this _truly_ the darkest guestroom in the house? She still could not believe it. However, she supposed it had something to do with the dark colour of the floor.

Gracefully, the gothic beauty stretched and gave a silent yawn. It was 11:00 am.

She looked around the awful room, and just in case, looked beside her. Every morning, even though Morticia knew Sensus Inversus was real, even though she knew that her love was upstairs, sleeping with the enemy, she checked for him. She checked to make sure that this wasn't a dream, and to remind herself that, no, Gomez was not going to wake up beside her and listen to her tell him of her wild dream, while he kissed her and asked if he could make her feel better, meaning make love to her and make her forget about it. And please, would be her only reply this time while he made damned sure that Morticia knew who she would always belong to. But, her bed of dead roses was upstairs, she had to remind herself. And while he was only upstairs, it was at times like this that he felt worlds away. And in a way, he was.

Morticia walked over to the closet, took out a dress and began to ready herself for the day. In an hour, she was finished, and she stood in the oversized vanity mirror, taking a look at her reflection before exiting the room.

That unfortunately bright day on September 18th, Morticia wore a long, gothic dress that extended down past her ankles, as usual. It was a darker shade of black, very low cut and tight, showcasing her gorgeous curves. The dress was not as elaborate as some of her others, but it was tied in the back like a corset, with black laces. She wore black tights and of course, her black, three and a half inch high heels. At the top of the heels of the shoes, were a few, small yet sharp, silver spikes. She wore her signature smoky eyes, and crimson lipstick. Her delicate, red-tipped fingers did not fumble with the thin, black choker she decided on, but instead, elegantly adjusted it to fit her neck, and let it sit.

Morticia heard an approving his.

"I like it." Morticia noticed Grimm, or Charles, as it was his real name, situating himself atop the mirror.

"Thank you, father." Morticia gave an acknowledging nod.

"Hanging in there, darling?" Charles asked.

"No." Morticia replied and wrapped the snake around her neck. "But if this doesn't work out soon, I will be." And it wasn't a lie. She would quite literally die without her husband, so she either had less than one month to get her darling amour back, or she had less than one month to live.

Charles sighed, nervous for his daughter. "Good to know."

Morticia raised an eyebrow, thinking to herself. "Is it?" She asked.

Charles said nothing for a minute, then responded with an, "I'm not sure."

Morticia, understanding, opened the door and stepped out of the room without a word.

She decided she would retreat to the second floor living room and sit for a while. Perhaps, if she was feeling bold, she could ring for Jeeves and request tea? No, something was off about that man. However, Morticia could not place her finger on what it was.

"Don't look now, dear, but guess who just passed behind us again." Charles wanted to roll his snake eyes.

"Really?" Morticia whispered as she walked down the not-so-eerily silent halls of the Addams mansion. "This is the third time."

"Does he think he's being subtle?" Charles questioned. He noticed how Jeeves kept lurking in doorways or archways, or behind walls, doing whatever he could to blend in. And he had a weird, almost pedophilic, grin spread across his face. Little did Charles and his daughter now that Jeeves was an internal bundle of nerves, and looked this way because he was actively trying not to.

Morticia did not want to risk conversing with her father if she was, indeed, being watched. So, she simply nodded and continued walking, hoping that her father took the hint to shush up.

Jeeves (subtly, in his own rattled mind) followed Morticia until he saw where she was going, confused as to why she was talking to that snake, but writing it off as a _weirdo thing_.

Morticia soon turned down the second-floor hall, coming to the double doors, and opening them.

Ophelia, dressed in a short, pastel blue skirt, a slightly low cut white blouse with elbow length sleeves and white, open-toed high heels, picked up her teacup with her freshly manicured nails and sipped her tea. "Yes, and you should see the way she dresses." She laughed. "One couldn't tell she's an Ivorybrooke girl. She looks like she came straight out of a Stephen King book. What could one expect? With a name like- Morticia." Ophelia froze when the girls turned to look behind her, and she noticed her sister had been standing there.

Morticia stood there, poised, unfazed and expressionless.

Half of the group of women held back laughter, while the other half just stared at the dark enchantress, mesmerized. They hadn't thought she would be beautiful, but here she was… quite possibly prettier than their leader.

Grateful that Charles had not hissed, and knowing that the girls were waiting for her next move, Morticia allowed her dark, angelic voice escaped her lips. "I should tell you, Ophelia, when talking about someone, it is best to make sure that someone can't hear you." She advised. "Not that I would know from personal experience." Her voice was calm, as usual, but had an undeniable edge to it.

Linda, Suzanne, Donna and Gail all stared at the sisters, most intensely at Ophelia. What was she going to do?

Ophelia held back a gulp and composed herself. "Oh, don't be silly, Morticia." She said. "We were talking about you but it was all good things." She paused, and looked to her friends. "Right, girls?"

Not a single one of the ladies backed her up. Instead, they all sipped their tea, in unison.

Charles went full snake and hissed at the girls, unable to conceal his anger, as Morticia walked closer to the group.

"I'm certain you were." Morticia responded, not buying it.

Linda, second-in-command, was the first to speak to Morticia. She gestured to an empty chair, between Ophelia and Suzanne. "Why don't you come sit with us?"

Morticia stroked her snake, a subtle reminder to try and keep quiet, and sat in the empty chair. She bent over, sophisticatedly and poured herself a cup of tea.

Suzanne, although she would not admit it, could not stop staring at Morticia's chest. It looked much more natural than her own ever would. But with so much plastic surgery on Suzanne's part, it was bound to.

Morticia looked the woman up and down, and Suzanne knew she had to say something.

"Well, we just didn't know what to think when Ophelia told us you were here." She said to her.

Morticia successfully held back a chuckle. Did these women take her for a fool? "Really?" She stirred her tea. "It seems to me like you had quite a good idea."

Sheepishly, Suzanne looked down at her tea, oddly growing cold, despite the heat. She could not help but think it had something to do with the witch in too-close proximity to her.

Donna decided to chime in, and turned her head to Morticia. "So, Morticia?" Donna gave a disingenuously friendly smile. "Do you have a husband?"

The girls gulped and stared, in horrour as Morticia removed the crimson gem from her silver ring, and poured what looked like blood from the empty socket into her tea. Before stirring the blood into her tea, she capped her ring. Then, she turned her attention to a stunned and frightened Donna. "No." She answered and side-eyed her older sister.

"Just haven't found the right man yet?" Donna questioned.

"No, I've found him." Morticia replied. "He just hasn't found me."

Suzanne was unable to ignore the fact that the woman before her was almost certainly drinking what people in her social group tried to actively avoid. Her fake nail pointed at the cup in Morticia's hands. "What's that?"

"Oh, just a bit of blood and arsenic." Morticia said, nonchalantly and sipped her tea.

The women shared yet another look of alarm.

Ophelia, status in jeopardy, laughed, nervously. "Oh, my sister is quite the kidder!"

"I didn't know you had a second sister." Morticia chuckled at the implication that she was in fact, not kidding.

Linda and the girls shifted, uncomfortably.

Knowing she had to do something, quickly, Ophelia turned to her sister and said, abruptly, "Alright, well, Morticia, it was so nice to see you this morning. But, I do believe the kids wanted to say goodbye to you before they caught the bus."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "The children go to school on Saturday?"

Ophelia wanted to die of embarrassment, and was all but ready to tear her sisters head off, but she knew she couldn't do that, and so did Morticia. So, despite the fact that she would almost rather shoot her brains out, she smiled, and pretended to remain classy. "Oh, there's just so much on my mind." She explained it away. "Forgive me, dear sister."

The girls may have smiled at how proper Ophelia was being, but it was absolutely killing her.

Morticia knew it, and did quite enjoy having the upper hand on her sister. Still, she knew what overstepping her limit was, and she had to abide by it. She may enjoy the power now, but she would much rather enjoy Gomez later. "You're forgiven."

Ophelia nodded a thank you. It sickened her to be half-mercilessly dragged across the concrete by her sister in front of her high society friends, but she could not say anything. Morticia would get hers. Ophelia would see to that.

The women resumed a bit more normal conversation (to them, anyways), but Morticia stayed silent for most of it. She was not the type to pretend to be interested in a topic for the sake of bittersweet revenge. And that was not about to change now.

But, thankfully for her, it didn't have to.

Gomez, in his black, light, short-sleeved shirt, dark blue jeans, and black boots walked into the room. He noticed the women and immediately put on his, _I love my life_ face.

"Good morning." He said, the same feigned happiness in his voice. That was the case, at least, until his eyes fell upon Morticia.

Ophelia waited for her usual kiss she got when in the presence of the girls, but it was in vain.

Gomez quickly walked over to stand between his wife's chair and his sister-in-law's chair, and he could not help but lean toward his sister in law. _Stop it._ Gomez's mind told him, coolly. _Control yourself, old man._ When he shifted more, he planted his feet, firmly in a straight position. _Stop leaning, you bastard. God, why are you even here right now? You want to see your wife this early in the morning? That better be your answer, because all hell will break loose if it isn't._ Gomez lightly sighed and stayed between the two chairs.

"Good morning, darling." Ophelia smiled.

Gomez tore his gaze from the goddess to his right and looked at his wife. "Good morning." He paused, knowing he was forgetting something.

Expectantly, the group of women waited.

Gomez snapped back to reality and planted a kiss on his wife's cheek. "Good morning." He said again.

Morticia wanted to grab Gomez and kiss him, and explain everything, especially because his gaze kept falling on her and she was defenseless against his gaze. But she couldn't, she had work to do first. So, fine, then. Fine, if she could not have him right now. But, by God was she going to pull out her smile for him. If she could not make him take her right now, she knew she could make him weak.

"Good morning, Gomez." Morticia set down her cup of tea.

Gomez turned his head to her. "Good morning, Morticia. How was your night?" He asked. She was looking at him that way… that way that made him forget everything and it. Was. Maddening.

His mind began to try and organize itself, but there was hurricane inside, taking out every rational thought and dumping it in the ocean. _She is trying to torture you, isn't she?_

"Oh, it was a bit restless but I managed." Morticia responded. She looked down at the bulge in his pants and the way he was looking at her. She smiled to herself. "I think the question is, how was yours?"

Gomez gulped. _Alright, my suspicions have been confirmed. That woman is out for blood._

"Where are you going?" She inquired, upon noticing the black jacket he was carrying.

 _She will be the death of you._

"Rite Aid, then grocery shopping for Jeeves." Gomez answered.

 _It's the end._

"Grocery shopping? Would you mind if I tagged along? I would like to pick up a few little things." Morticia asked. "I'd pay, of course."

 _Run, fool, run_. "Yes, I'd be delighted to have you come." _I never thought you to be suicidal!_ Gomez wanted so badly for his brain to stop barking at him. He was not doing anything wrong, damn it. Well, maybe that, was just the trouble.

Ophelia was at a crossroads. God, she did not know which was worse. Let her sister alone with her husband so she has the chance to seduce him? Or let her sister stay with her and turn her once high society life into a mockery?

She was getting no help whatsoever from any of the girls, nor would she at any point. This decision, like so many others before, would have to be made on her own. If she could make the conscious decision to attempt to destroy her little sister, if she could make the conscious decision to use and abuse anyone she pleased, if she could make the conscious decision to enact Sensus Inversus, then this struggle should be nonexistent. Yet, here she was, conflicted due to the mere presence of Morticia.

"Thank you." Morticia stood up and Gomez took her arm.

Contact. Oh, how starved Morticia was for contact with him. Even if it was a subtle movement, just a touch, it was enough right now. He had not so effortlessly, adoringly linked arms with her since he remembered her. Morticia felt herself fight for her breathing to remain under control.

"Oh, I'd offer to come, darling." Ophelia broke the newfound silence in the room. "But, it would terribly inconsiderate of me to leave the girls." She batted her eyes, sweetly and looked at the women, seemingly asking for approval.

"Well, I do live quite a few blocks away." Finally, Suzanne was helping her out.

"Of course." Gomez seemed all for being alone with Morticia, and he wanted to shoot himself for it.

"It was…" Morticia's eyes shifted, simply adding to her eccentricity. "nice to meet you ladies."

"Mmm… nice to meet you too." Linda seemed like she was trying to smile, but ended up looking like she had just sucked on a lemon.

"Well, I suppose you two should be going, then." Ophelia decided it best to act like she thought Morticia would never be capable of seducing her husband, for the purposes of fooling everyone else.

Gomez knew he had to act like he was not bursting inside, so he remained calm on the outside best he could and tried to think of what he usually said to her. _Think, Gomez, think, damn it! Goodbye, darling? No. Children are…? What, at school? Of course not, you fool it's Saturday. Ah, yes, here:_ "I just might make a pit stop and bring you back a present, my dear."

"Could it be that necklace I saw last week?" Ophelia made herself sound excited.

"We'll see." Gomez replied. "Ladies." He gave a slight bow to bid the women farewell.

"Gomez." The ladies all smiled and acknowledged Mr. Addams in unison.

"We hope to see you again soon, Morticia." Gail said and sipped her bland tea.

"And I, you." Morticia replied. "You ladies have a nice day." She then was being led out of the room by Gomez, after he kissed Ophelia goodbye.

Once she heard the door close, the ladies' silence stopped. They burst into laughter.

"She really does look like she belongs in Dracula's family!" Donna laughed.

"No." Linda shook her head, smoothing down her bright yellow summer dress. "I would say a demon from The Exorcist!"

"Ladies, lets be respectful. She looks like a witch." Gail said.

Suzanne scoffed. "Yea, a witch who I don't want near my husband."

Ophelia rolled her eyes. "Please, Suzanne, she looks dead. Unless Norman is into necrophilia, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

For Ophelia, it felt good to mock her sister, because if even for just a minute, she could pretend she was the pretty one. She could pretend that this was always the way everything was, and that she was the one who never had to use her body to get what she wanted… but she was. However, Linda and the girls didn't need to know that… and, they didn't.

Gomez opened the door for Morticia and she got into the passenger seat of the Ferrari, the type of car which Morticia had admittedly never ridden in. She never had the desire to, but she could, she would go anywhere with Gomez Addams.

"I find it humorous how they think I can't hear them." Morticia said, closing the door.

Gomez started the car. He nodded, knowing what she meant. "I find it disgusting." He said, honestly. "It really does pain me to see you get treated that way."

Morticia gave a small laugh, quietly to herself.

But, Gomez did hear it and he raised an eyebrow at her as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Feeling the need to explain herself, Morticia spoke. "Hurt and pain." She reminisced, forgetting Gomez probably didn't even know what that meant.

Gomez nodded, now driving down Candletop Hill. "Ah, yes. Forgive me. It hurts me to see them treat you that way?"

Morticia appeared surprised by this. "You remember?"

"Of course, I do. It was only the most insightful quote I've heard next to our own Addams credo." Gomez paused and put a hand on hers, briefly. "Although, I may be a bit bias."

Morticia laughed. "You may be."

Gomez turned on the radio at a lowered volume, and then stole another glance at Morticia. "You know why they said those things about you, don't you?" He asked.

Morticia looked over at him. "No." She admitted.

"It's because you're beautiful." _God, old man, if you flirt with this woman one more time._ Gomez shook off his thoughts. "The only thing I saw in those girls' eyes was raw envy."

Morticia smiled, then. Well, perhaps this wouldn't be as hard as she thought, after all. "Thank you." She paused. "So, how are things? With you and Ophelia?"

Gomez sighed. "Oh, you know…" He tried to think of a reply. "Keeping busy."

"I can imagine." Morticia responded. "So," She decided it best to make small talk. "What's your prescription for?"

"Depression." Gomez paused. "Well, anti-depressants, to be more specific."

Morticia was baffled. "Why would you want anti-depressants?"

Gomez put his hands up at the red light. "Thank you!" He agreed. "I thought I was the only one who was confused about that."

Morticia relaxed in the seat a bit. "Who suggested you take these? I wouldn't listen."

Gomez looked at her, half-questioningly. "Who do you think?"

Morticia nodded. "Ah, so pastels put you up to this nonsense." _Watch it,_ she reminded herself.

"Yes." Gomez nodded. "And do you know what happened when I asked why?"

"No." Morticia awaited a story.

"She explained to me that my jokes were too morbid." Gomez chuckled, and Morticia felt the bats in her heart begin to flutter. "What really pushed her over the edge was when I told her I wasn't joking."

Morticia couldn't help but laugh. "You aren't serious."

"If I was kidding, I wouldn't be here, seventeen years later, picking up anti-depressants." Gomez replied.

Seventeen years. When the letters stopped. "Are they working?"

"What do you take me for?" Gomez shook his head. "If they were working, I wouldn't be taking them."

"Clever." Morticia remarked.

"Thank you, my lady." Gomez replied and tipped an imaginary hat.

Morticia looked in the rearview mirror then, and what she saw in it registered. "Gomez, there's something I think you should know."

"What are they?" Gomez asked, still driving.

"You ran a red light about a minute and a half ago."

Gomez nodded. "I feel like there's more to this."

Morticia sighed. "Yes."

"What is it?"

"The police are chasing us." Morticia told him, nonchalantly.

Gomez looked in the mirror and finally saw what she did. "Well, this just got interesting." He pulled out a cigar from his pocket and began to smoke.

Morticia and Gomez eventually did stop the car, and received a ticket for running the red light, and, they soon realized, speeding.

They then arrived at the drug store for the prescription, where they stood in line, amidst receiving glances ranging from awkward to afraid. But the pair paid no mind to the strange looks.

Gomez walked with Morticia up to the prescription pick-up, and was greeted by a tall, thin, older man, seemingly in his early fifties.

"Hello, Mr. Addams." The man greeted him, like they were old friends.

"Donald, how are you, old man?" Gomez inquired.

"Oh, couldn't be better, Gomez." Donald replied. "Who is this lovely lady?" He looked at Morticia.

"I'm Morticia." Morticia shook his hand. "I'm…" Her eyes went to Gomez as she thought about what to reply with. "family." She decided.

"Family…" Donald thought for a moment. "Oh, Morticia. It's so nice to finally meet-"

Gomez shot Donald a look like a deer in headlights, and Donald quickly rephrased.

"Forgive me, dear lady. I thought you were someone else." He said. "I meant, it is very nice to meet you. For the first time." Donald paused and suspiciously looked at his friend. "Never having heard of you at all."

Gomez's eyes shifted, seemingly nervous. "I'm here for my usual, Donald."

Donald nodded. "Depression…" He muttered as he walked to the back.

"Oh, the poor man." An elderly woman with blonde hair, wearing a bright, floral dress tapped Gomez on the shoulder. "Sir?"

Gomez turned from the conversation he had just started with Morticia and met the eyes of the old woman. "Yes, may I help you?" He asked, politely.

"I couldn't help but overhear. Why do you need depression pills?" The old woman pried.

Gomez sighed and put a hand in his pocket. Whether it was out of innocence or for the sake of a too accurate joke, he replied, "I'm married."

The woman became tight-lipped and said no more after her rude question was answered.

Gomez then continued the conversation with the beauty in front of him, and Donald soon informed tem that the wait for the prescription would be about twenty minutes. So, they now stood in the card section at the Rite Aid, thinking of morbid sayings to replace the altogether too happy or basic phrases with.

"Morticia?" Gomez found her and showed her a birthday card with the picture of a dog blowing out candles. It read, _Hey, old friend. You're just a year away from reaching fifty. But…_ and inside, the card read, _if you have to think about that, don't forget to eat lots of cake and smile! Happy Birthday!_

"Oh, dear." Morticia contemplated what the new phrase should be. "How about, _Hello, old friend. You are another year closer to your impending demise. And…"_ Morticia opened the card. _"It is never too early to start thinking about a carpenter. You're just a year away from turning fifty, and you should be resting comfortably."_

Gomez laughed. "I like that. How about an image of a coffin right under the words?"

"Perfect, and we wouldn't even have to change the colour of the writing." Morticia agreed.

"Just one thing, about that last line."

"What?"

Gomez hesitated, not. "Let's try, _you want to rest in peace, not pieces."_

Morticia smiled. "Yes, I think that suits the card better. Or perhaps, _don't worry, darling, I'm not even seconds behind you._ "

"Mmm… that sounds personal." Gomez remarked.

Morticia smirked. "Mmm… maybe it is."

The general public at Rite Aid had had enough at that point, and soon a short, stocky, African American worker with her hair up, walked over to the macabre pair.

"Hello." Morticia greeted the woman.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Yea, hi. Listen, I don't know what planet you people are on, but everyone in Rite Aid is uncomfortable. And making the people who regularly shop here uncomfortable is not an easy task."

"Why would they be uncomfortable?" Morticia questioned.

"You can't just crack jokes about kickin' the bucket in the holiday card section!" She whisper-yelled.

"Don't worry, Ms. Wanda." Gomez read the woman's name tag. "I can assure you we were not joking about kicking the bucket."

Morticia nodded, holding up a graceful, defensive hand. "Of course not. Staring down the Grimm Reaper, yes. But kicking the bucket, no."

Gomez stifled a laugh.

"You try'na be smart with me, lady?" Wanda asked, annoyed.

"Oh, Morticia's very smart. Listen to this," Gomez held up a card to Wanda. _"Hello, old friend. You-"_

Wanda took the card from him. "I don't care, and I don't want to have to call security. Now, will you please shut your mouths about what party-goer is gonna die and when?" She walked away then, grumbling to herself as she did.

Gomez leaned in towards Morticia. "We're purchasing this card."

Morticia nodded in approval.

As the cashier scanned the card, she read the words. "Going to a birthday party?"

Gomez shook his head. "No."

They soon got into the car after having cashed out, and the day passed rather quickly. Charles explained to Morticia that he believed Sensus Inversus Gomez was obviously still infatuated with her, and Morticia knew it. Still, nothing but a few sweet memories had come out of the day, and as the sun set, she knew she had now even less time than before to get Gomez to act on his love for her. She couldn't. She could encourage it, but it wouldn't work if she instigated it. So, she had to pray, and she had to wait.

Late that night, Wendy arrived home from dance practice, ecstatic.

Gomez and Ophelia were on the couch, watching When Harry Met Sally -Gomez, doing so under serious duress- when the door opened.

"I got a solo!" Wendy squealed and ran over to the couch. "I beat Genie and I got a solo!"

Gomez leapt off the couch and hugged her. "That's wonderful!"

"Yes." Ophelia stood up and gave her daughter a congratulatory hug. "Let's hope it is."

Wendy pulled away from the hug, and her once happy expression darkened. "Well… there's something about my solo, mother."

Ophelia wore a questioning look on her face. "What is it?"

"A minute." Wendy responded. She really did crave her mother's acceptance and attention. For looking so much like her, one would think she constantly had it. But she was held to an unimaginable standard, and Wendy held not a single candle to Ophelia's dream of her daughter. Not even once, not really.

"You're only up there for a minute?" Ophelia seemed upset.

"Yes." Wendy replied.

"And Rose is up there for…?" Ophelia was more upset with that obviously bias dance teacher and less at her daughter, but Wendy took it quite harshly.

"Three." Wendy refused to meet her mother's eyes.

"Three." Ophelia had to remain calm. Now, she was under fire. If she could help it, she was not going to show Gomez her true fury, as she had shown her children in the past. If she did, it would be curtains for her, and she knew it.

"Yes. But I did try very hard." Wendy took off her light, pink summer jacket. "I even memorized the dance already." _Can I see it?_ If only her mother had ever asked that question.

"That's nice." Ophelia nodded, as if physically convincing herself that she hadn't another thing to hide from Linda and the girls, but trying to hide this would be like trying to hide an elephant, smack in the middle of their living room. "Well, dear, it's awfully late."

Wendy did not show the hurt in her heart, on her face. She merely nodded. "Goodnight, mother."

"Goodnight, Wendy." Ophelia turned to her husband. "Gomez, are you coming?"

"I'll be there shortly." Gomez barely looked at his wife as he said those words.

Ophelia nodded. "Don't be long." She could not be subtly seductive if or when, she tried. Still, she made her ascent up the stairs, leaving Gomez alone with his dejected daughter.

Wendy was about to hang up her coat, but Gomez took it and did it for her.

There was a minute of silence before Gomez opened his mouth. "I'd like to see it." He told her.

"Father, really. It's not a big deal." Wendy responded.

"To you it is." Gomez paused. "There are two people in this world that I can read very well." He said to his daughter. "You, and…" His voice trailed off.

"And her?" Wendy gestured upstairs.

Knowing who she was talking about, and knowing it was not his wife, Gomez nodded once. "Can I see your dance?"

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Yes, father."

With her words, she got into position, and noticed, not, that a third party had come to watch. Poised, she leapt and twirled and danced her heart out for a full minute. She pretended that her body was that of a ballet dancer's, and that she wore one of those beautiful, ballet dancer's outfits. She heard music playing on her mental record player, and saw crowds of people throwing roses at her in her clear yet foggy mind. And when it was all over, she sought approval from her father.

"It was wonderful." Gomez patted her shoulder. "Now get some sleep. You have a rehearsal tomorrow morning."

"Thank you." Wendy then turned to stare at what her father was, and sighed. For just a young girl, her mind was cluttered with worry, confusion and anger. And for just a young girl, she was completely capable of showing hardly any of it on her face. Where the hell did she get that from?

Morticia stood, leaning slightly against the wall, in her nightgown, arms elegantly crossed under her chest. "You're very good." She said to Wendy as she made her ascent up the stairs.

Wendy barely looked at her aunt, and gave a simple nod as somewhat of a thank you. Then, she went upstairs, presumably to her mattress.

"Wendy is quite the talented little girl." Morticia said to Gomez.

Gomez was conflicted. More conflicted tan he had ever been. All he wanted to do was talk to her, but all he could do was watch her. All he needed to do was… well, those thoughts were… was it so wrong to want to, to crave the feel of her- yes, it was. It was wrong. But if indeed it was the bad kind of wrong, why was his heart screaming at him that it wasn't? Why, why was it this complicated? Where as this confliction coming from? When would it end? Did he want it to? _Yes,_ he decided. _Remember, Gomez, you have a wife. You love her._ "Yes, I'm very proud of her."

Morticia nodded. "You should be." She began to walk up the stairs of the once lovely mansion, and as she did, she ran into the one person who she truly had no desire to see. Her sister.

"Hello, Morticia." Ophelia subtly adjusted her pink feathered slipper.

Morticia turned and watched as Ophelia wrapped her arms around Gomez's neck and kissed his cheek, to spite her younger sister. And she noticed, Gomez's hungry eyes were on Morticia's glorious form, despite Ophelia's physical efforts. Bewitching indeed.

Frustrated, Ophelia _humphed_. "Gomez, I'm over here."

Morticia smirked, and then called to her sister from the tenth step, gently, "I believe he understands that, dear."

Ophelia tried to lean into her distracted husband, but it took a good deal of effort. "Goodnight, Morticia." She called to her sister.

"And to you as well." Morticia stole a glance at Gomez and continued up the stairs.

While she would not be sleeping in her bed tonight, she would be in her mind. She did not have to be looking at the couple to know, that while her sister's eyes were no longer on her… Gomez's eyes very much were.


	13. Paraded on My Rain

Two days had passed since the _incident_ , with Ophelia and the girls. Now September 20th, Peter had his fourth baseball game of the season, and they were facing Morticia's home city, Ivorybrooke.

Morticia had absolutely no idea how baseball was played, but Peter had really seemed to take a liking to her over these past couple of days. She was grateful for that. True, she did miss her old Pugsley. Rambunctious, carefree, homicidal little Pugsley. However, this -being liked by her once son, now nephew- was good for now. Very good.

In fact, Peter enjoyed her company so much that he had requested she drive he and Wendy to the ballpark instead of Jeeves. Ophelia and Gomez were going to be lucky if they made it on time at all, as Ophelia was going to take an hour to get ready, and the Mockrage City Baseball Park was thirty minutes away. Peter would have been late for the pre-game practice had someone else not driven him.

Morticia jumped at the opportunity. Although she was not too eager to attend a little league baseball game, she was eager to win over the children. She had voiced her concerns about this to her father the previous night, and Charles had agreed that she had to step it up. She was trying her absolute best, that was fact. What was also fact, was that her best still came to little to no avail, and she only had less than twenty-three days left.

She wanted to pat herself on the back for being able to tolerate this unacceptable agony for these past few days. Being without her amour, whilst he was standing next to his Sensus Inversus wife, made her want to desecrate everything around her faster than the Soviet Union could ever have dreamed. She hated watching her sister try and pretend they were normally all over each other, which was completely untrue.

 _Who were the ones that all but made love in the middle of the charity auction last year?_ Morticia and Gomez were. _Who were the ones that were reprimanded at The Museum of Torture and Weaponry for necking beside the wheel of pain?_ Morticia and Gomez were. _Who were the ones that would die without each other? Who were the ones that would go mad without the touch of their other half? Who were the ones that never went to bed without making sure the other knew just how adored they were?_

 _We were, goddamit._ Morticia sighed. She missed that, she missed him. She missed _him_ more than she could let on right now. And oh, did that kill her.

Morticia, as she drove down the road to the baseball park, could not believe what she was wearing. She had been warned that the dust would ruin a dress that swept the floor, so this one was short. Actually, it extended down to a little above her knees. She had not remembered the last time she showed most of her legs in public. It wasn't a modesty situation, she was very confident in her figure. It was just never particularly her style. Admittedly, however, she looked quite good in it.

The dress was black and low cut in her usual V-neck. It was very tight, curves on display, and had long sleeves. With the dress, she wore black, light, gothic tights and black, three-inch heels with pointed toes. Her delicate fingers were adorned with gothic rings, six of them to be exact. Her black, wide-brimmed hat rested comfortably in the empty, black, leather passenger seat of the red Ferrari, ready to be put on once she exited the vehicle.

Morticia adjusted the too squeaky clean mirror so that she could see the children in the back seat, and Charles's sleep on his daughter's shoulders was briefly disturbed.

Peter had never heard London After Midnight before but he didn't think they had a bad sound. He had only ever listened to the typical, mainstream bands that his mother liked (The Backstreet Boys, included, which, admittedly, Peter never liked too much). Perhaps he was just in a good mood that day, or perhaps he really did enjoy the song, but for whatever reason, he was jamming out like he knew every word.

Pleased, Morticia smiled down at her snake, who hissed in approval.

Unfortunately, none of Morticia's rainfall lately seemed to come without a parade, following close behind it.

Wendy leaned her head against the window, in ignorance. The girl had been acting strangely toward Morticia, ever since she came back to Mockrage. She was very standoffish, and almost acted as if her aunt committed some unforgivable sin but the only one who seemed to remember was her.

 _How was your day, Wendy?_

 _Fine._

 _Congratulations on your solo, dear._

 _Uh-huh. So, do you like school?_

 _Yes._

 _Alright… well, you have a nice night dear._

All Wendy would do after that was nod and walk away.

Morticia had absolutely no idea what she could have said or done to the poor girl, who seemingly had enough on her plate as it was. She did feel terrible, however. So, she spent every other day trying to make things right. But, how can one truly ever make things right, if one does not even know what is wrong?

Letting the music drown out her thoughts, and paying little attention to the busy road in front of her -to her nervous snake father's dismay- she drove on, not saying a word to either of the children until Peter finally spoke. But for all of the right reasons, they were all of the wrong words.

"I've always wanted to meet you." He said, smiling, idiotically.

Wendy's eyes enlarged, and she shot an, _are you insane?_ , look at Peter. She was praying that his words fell on deaf ears. But, unlike her mother, Morticia wanted to hear what the children had to say.

Morticia's perfect eyebrows raised, in confusion. "I thought you didn't know I existed?"

Peter turned to Wendy, who was still looking at him as though he had revealed any and all secrets regarding Area 51. He gulped. "Uh-oh."

"Certainly, your mother didn't tell you about me." Morticia said, and logically, at that. Ophelia would never have told her children anything about the sister she so deeply despised.

Wendy, annoyed and angered, for Peter to continue.

Peter sighed. "No, you're right." He paused. "Father did."

Morticia was speechless. Gomez, _unfortunately Ophelia's_ , had told his children about her?

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" Peter was pleading.

Not having the desire to worry the children, Morticia quickly responded, "Of course not." While they were willing to talk -or at least while Peter was- Morticia figured she would ask a couple more questions. "When did he tell you?"

Wendy broke her silence. She appeared angry, like there was something more, something bigger than what Morticia knew… and it was all her fault. She looked into the mirror that was down, so she could all but meet her aunt's eyes. "He talks about you all the time."

Morticia did not know if she should test her limits. How confidential, really, was all this conversation? She figured that the children were genuinely a bit rattled, but what even was genuine? Nothing was real anymore. "He does?" She decided to ask.

"Yes." Wendy grimaced. "He does."

"I see." Morticia nodded and Wendy went back to leaning against the window. "Is there something that I've-"

"We're here." Wendy cut her off.

Morticia took this as a sign to stop asking questions, and so, she did.

She stepped out of the bright, shiny car and urbanely situated her hat atop her head of thick, beautiful, raven hair.

The children stepped out of the car and Peter grabbed his baseball gear out of the trunk.

Morticia had to laugh at the license plate on the car: _CLASS1_. Yes, class. That was the perfect way to describe Ophelia in a world where up is down, black is white and her sister was a nun. No. If this car did indeed belong to Ophelia -and from what she had heard, it did- it should have read, _SLUTXX_.

She fixed Peter's red, Little League baseball cap for him, and adjusted a couple of the miniscule buttons on his shirt. "What is the object of this game?" Morticia asked him.

Peter was confused in expression. Had this woman truly never witnessed baseball before? "Umm… we gotta hit the ball, and run to the bases. And then we either win or we lose." He was terrible at explaining things.

"Oh, how charming. So, is it a fight to the death or merely until bloodshed?" Morticia inquired. After all, these kids had to have some idea of the real world. What child would want to beat another team without the satisfaction of ever actually doing so?

"Neither." Peter did like his aunt, but he still thought her a bit odd. He looked behind him, beyond the parking lot and to the baseball diamond.

Practice was starting.

Peter shrugged off his aunt's peculiar question and began to run towards the baseball diamond. "I gotta go, guys, practice is starting!"

Morticia waved, gently to the young boy, a bit disheartened that the synopsis of the game -in her eyes- was running over flat squares in the hot sun, randomly whacking balls and getting no real payoff but a, _Hey, nice job, kid!_ The jolly activity lacked any sort of depiction of vengeance or human suffering for the game to be considered remotely enjoyable. She grimaced at the blazing sun, intruding on Peter's happy day and walked with Wendy to the bleachers.

Wendy walked a bit aways from her aunt, and Morticia was unsure if this was due to the way she was dressed, or the incident in the car. However, judging by Wendy's facial expression -which was lacking in physical representation of her emotions- that Morticia (in any reality) could read like a simple poem, she was leaning toward the second option.

Other mothers pulled up to the park, in their cutesy, sporty attire. It repulsed Morticia greatly to watch these mothers fuss over the way their kids appeared and behaved. Really, it was sick. While she did understand being a little disheartened that one's child wished to partake in these such activities, it was still one's child. They did not deserve to be treated like a criminal. She continued walking towards the diamond. _Parents nowadays, they just don't understand._ She thought.

The diamond was large, and tiny to medium-sized clouds of dust and sand came up whenever someone so much as lightly tapped the semi-firm ground. The bases were neat, as though they were fresh from the factory, yet worn, as though they had a few good years under their belts. And they probably did.

The freshly mowed, turtle green grass gave way to a large field, where some of the siblings of the boys in the Little League were playing (amidst… daisies, of all flowers). Surrounding the large diamond, was of course the batting cage. And then, there were the bleachers. Silver, slightly dilapidated and grand in size. Hoards of parents, blonde, thin mothers and tall men who had to make it back to the office in a couple of hours. This, was what Morticia's once children were being subjected to. This, and Rolex watches, and The Backstreet Boys (she saw those CDs in the Ferrari), and… daisies. It was times like this that she could not help but blame herself for everything that went wrong, and despite her father's hissing protests, her thinking was not going to change any time soon.

Wendy, wearing blue, high-waisted jean shorts, a pastel pink tank top with a white heart image on it, and a white jean jacket, sat at the top of the bleachers, in the last row. Her hair, competing with the brightness and colour of the sun's burning rays, was in its usual braided style. Her white converse sneakers rested neatly against the bleachers, and showed off her silver ankle bracelet with a ladybug charm on it. Upon noticing that, one might notice her matching ladybug stud earrings.

Morticia took a seat next to the girl, awkwardly.

A few moments of silence passed, and as more mothers and fathers poured into the stands, so did the stares and whispers. The hat hid her eyes, and a good thing it did, because she was staring all of them down. Especially when Linda, Donna, Gail, Suzanne, and their families sat down right in front of her.

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Plastic party, ten o'clock." She muttered.

Morticia looked over at her, feeling a pang of hope for the fact that there were a few words said. Albethey not entirely directed at her, at least they were words. "Don't worry, dear, I don't believe we're invited."

"Yes, Dave is so excited about the game today." She smiled and waved at her fit, tall, blonde husband. "Good luck, dear!"

Upon noticing her, Dave's sparkling blue eyes winked and continued coaching.

The other women put a hand to their hearts. "Uh-huh." They all smiled.

"Why, look who it is." Suzanne turned around, and the other ladies followed her lead.

Morticia's black eyes looked up, as she knew she had been spotted.

Then, the group of women met the intimidating yet elegant gaze of Morticia Andora Frump.

"Hello." Morticia greeted them.

"Hello, _you!_ " Linda greeted her like they were old friends.

"With all that talking you did about me, one would think you could remember my name." Morticia replied, her voice, calm.

"Of course, we do, Morticia." Donna said.

"Well, I sit correct, then." Morticia was right, they did remember her name.

"Yes, I suppose you do." Gail couldn't meet Morticia's eyes.

"Linda's husband's the coach of the Mockrage Macaws." Suzanne smiled at her friend.

"Oh, really?" Morticia folded her hands in her lap and straightened her back. "How long has he been coaching?"

"Ten years." Linda reminisced.

Morticia nodded, a bit skeptical. "Tell me, has your husband ever thought of introducing weaponry?"

Linda's eyes enlarged as she gulped.

Wendy just sat there, stunned. _Mother. Is going. To kill you._ , was all she could think.

"No." Linda answered.

"How odd. Perhaps you could suggest it to him? After all, what fun does a young boy have, when being told he is going to have the opportunity to beat the other team, and he finds its just a metaphor?"

Linda grew meeker by the second. "Right." She laughed, nervously.

Suzanne turned to Wendy. " _Wendy,_ _pumpkin,_ how are you?"

 _Pumpkin?_ Morticia was grateful for her stoic nature, as she didn't have to grimace no matter how terribly she wanted to.

"Fine, thank you." Wendy smiled, cordially. "And yourself?"

"A little worried about that weaponry suggestion." Suzanne laughed, praying Morticia was joking.

"There's no need to worry, Suzanne." Morticia told her. "After all, a sword can teach a child many things about revenge, honour and sacrifice. What could a harmless little bat teach them?"

Suzanne could not believe what she was hearing. "Not to kill each other?"

"Why would you want to do that?" Morticia thought for a moment. "Oh, no. Of course, you're right."

The women nodded, happy in the thought that Suzanne had talked some sense into her.

Morticia sighed. "They're just a bit too young, I'm afraid."

Before the women could respond, Gomez and Ophelia walked over to where Morticia and Wendy sat, and settled in their seats.

The women greeted Ophelia and her husband, and just as they turned back around, the game began… and large, grey clouds began to roll in.

It had been forty minutes, and what started out at little more than a drizzle, was now a rainstorm. All rain, no thunder or lightening… not yet.

The coach blew his whistle, stopping the game.

Morticia turned to Gomez. "What does that mean?" She asked. "I thought you said they didn't do that in the middle of a batter up?"

"They don't." Gomez replied. "The weather is fine. I don't know what the trouble would be-"

 _"_ _Shh."_ Ophelia reprimanded her husband.

"And I guess I never will." Gomez sighed and watched, expectantly along with the other parents.

"Rained out!" Dave called.

Every kid on the playing field looked terribly upset.

Morticia felt awful. What kind of child abuse was this madness? Unpermitted to use any sort of weaponry on the field, being forced to play outside in the sun, drinking juice, unable to reap the rewards of their hardships, _and now, they were being forbade to play in the rain?_ Well, that was unacceptable.

"Wait!" Morticia called. She stood.

All eyes were on the mysterious, dark beauty.

She continued. _"Listen,"_ She spoke over the rain and the silent crowd. _"These children work hard, in the sun, four hours on end. They barely get to reap the rewards of their successes the way that they should. All they ask is that their parents come and watch them play. Is that so hard? Would it kill you to sit, and wait for twenty minutes while Lucifer or Balthazar, or whoever your child is, finishes their game?"_

"Morticia, _sit down._ " Ophelia said, in a low volume, through gritted teeth.

 _"_ _And you,"_ Morticia pointed at the coach. _"Why don't you introduce at least one exciting element to this game?"_

Dave couldn't help but stare at her curves, and it did not go unnoticed by his wife. He was still, words having been stolen from his throat.

Rain poured down on the silent crowd.

Morticia stood, dignified.

"Hear, hear!" Gomez called and stood up next to Morticia. _"Finish the game!"_

Dave waited, and soon a man from the front stood up. "The weird lady's right! _Finish the game!_ "

Soon, over half the crowd stood up, and began to stomp and chant, _"Finish the game!"_

 _"_ _Finish the game!"_ The other half soon followed.

The most elite women of the highest social standing, alive today in Briarwood, Massachusetts were the last to stand with the witch. Admittedly, they did so because everyone else was. And as much as Ophelia Anastasia Addams hated her sister, she knew she would hate being looked down on more.

Dave nodded. "Alright!" He blew the whistle and to the excitement of all of the children, the game resumed.

The parents sat back down to watch in amazement as someone hit a winning homerun (a bit ironic considering the speech). Morticia, stoic yet happy she did _something_ on the inside, looked over at Wendy.

Wendy smiled at her.

The game had gone by quickly, and everyone was drenched. Morticia knew that barely any of the parents would want to talk to her, as they only stood with her because two other people were brave enough to. And that was fine. She didn't do it for popularity, she did it for Pugs-Peter. She did it for Peter.

Once home, everyone decided to change into their nightclothes early, as their daywear was soaked.

Everyone seemed to be in a slightly better, and slightly macabre mood, with the exception of Ophelia. But or once, her happiness was not the first priority.

Until the other shoe dropped.

Dinner was almost over with. The family ate at the gold, porcelain table and sat on the Victorian, elegant chairs. Ophelia had wanted the walls to be of a soft pink shade, and the floor was white marble. There was a humungous grandfathers clock against the wall, and a piano at the opposite end of the room. There was a large, crystalline chandelier, dangling above the dining room table.

"Wendy?" Ophelia sipped her **rosé** **.** "Is there anything you'd like to share about your dance rehearsal yesterday morning?"

Wendy almost choked on her salmon. "What?"

Morticia gently put a hand on Wendy's back but Wendy shrugged it off.

"You heard me." Ophelia stated.

"Yes." Wendy looked down, then met her mother's eyes. "I didn't get the big solo for dance. They call it The Golden Solo. Rosie got it."

Ophelia's eye twitched. "Rosie has a three-minute solo already."

"Yes."

"Is this a joke?" Ophelia's hand shook just a tad, Morticia noticed.

Gomez put a hand to his forehead. This was Ophelia's fourth full glass.

"Yes, mother." Wendy confirmed.

"This is ridiculous. This is the eighth solo that you have been denied this year!" Ophelia's laughter was anything but in humour.

"I know, mother."

"Are you kidding me? What happens to be your excuse for this one? Three minutes of lone stage time all year and it's _September._ " Ophelia grimaced and took another sip of wine. "Maybe you ought to take lessons from Rose. Rosie could probably teach you how to-"

"Don't worry, dear. Just remember that one teacher's opinion is not the opinion of everyone." Morticia told her.

"Yes, I think you did a good job, Wendy." Gomez said and gently took the wine glass away from his wasted wife.

"I'm going upstairs and giving that damned dance teacher of yours a call." Ophelia shakily got up from her seat and walked out.

"Wendy-" Morticia was cut off by Wendy angrily pushing away and storming upstairs.

"

Gomez wore a pained expression but put a hand up to stop Morticia from leaving. "She likes to be alone when she's upset."

"I was going to check on _Wendy_." Morticia clarified.

"I was talking about Wendy." Gomez responded. "I'm going to save her plate for her."

They finished dinner, then, in awkward silence, and Morticia was pissed beyond belief that her sister had to pick tonight to get drunk.

Soon, Peter got up from the table, and Gomez and Morticia were left standing, having decided to retire for the night.

"Does she do that often?" Morticia questioned.

Gomez pushed in his chair. He wanted to bid her goodnight and not answer her question. After all these years apart, it would be natural for him to be able to walk away from her. But his beaten, conflicted heart could do no such thing. One way or another, he bent to her will. Always. "Get angry or drink to access?" He asked.

Morticia looked up at him, obviously tired. "Both."

 _Don't. Say. A word._ Gomez's mind ordered. _Don't do it. Don't speak ill of the lady upstairs, she is your wife and you love her._ "First one, yes. Second, no." _Damn you._

Morticia nodded. "Mmm." She pursed her lips.

 _God, when she does that… I mean. No. This is wrong. Stop looking at her! Walk away! Oh, not the smile. Holy grail, look at her curves. What are you doing, you bastard? Enchantress! I mean… agh! Damn! Bid her goodnight, you fool and do it quick before you can't think to yourself anymore._ Gomez nodded. "We should go to bed."

Morticia raised her eyebrow.

Gomez realized what he had just said. "Not we, together." He paused. "I mean, of course, not that I don't want to but. Well, wait, no. That's not what I-" Gomez did not feel like standing there, babbling like an idiot any longer. But he did feel like standing there next to her. No, no he didn't. He felt like going upstairs to his wife. _Don't you, Gomez?_

 _Gomez?_

"Gomez?" Morticia was concerned he was in some sort of a trance.

"Yes, of course. I feel the same way." Gomez blurted out, snapping out of his trance. "Goodnight, Morticia." He kissed her hand and walked out of the room. He hated this confliction between his heart and his brain. And both were set on a complete, chaotic path to self-destruction.

Morticia massaged her temples when he left, needing to get a grip on things. _God, I love him. I need him more than I need air. But if this keeps up, the only thing I'm going to need is a strait jacket or a noose. Or both, if I want to make things interesting._

Then, she remembered Wendy. Poor little Wendy who was ridiculed at dinner for trying her best. Morticia shook away her tortured thoughts, and decided to go find her tortured niece.

Morticia walked upstairs in her long, low cut, silk, black nightgown and matching slippers, to her niece's bedroom. She knew immediately the door which led to her niece's bedroom, as it was that horrendous pink colour.

Gently, Morticia knocked on the door. "Wendy, darling? Are you in there?"

 _"_ _Please go away."_ Wendy called from the opposite side of the door.

"Wendy, I'm concerned about you. I'm not leaving." Morticia responded.

"You did the first time." Wendy mumbled.

"Wendy? Please let me in, you need to talk to someone."

"No offense, but you are the _last person_ I wanna talk to." Wendy rolled her eyes, although her aunt could not see it.

"Why?" Morticia asked.

 _"_ _Go. Away."_ Wendy rolled over in her bed.

Morticia straightened her back, as if her posture was not perfect enough. "Wendy Addams, open this door right now."

Wendy could not believe this woman's audacity. "It's open."

Morticia nodded and walked into the unsightly bedroom.

Two of the walls were pink, with intricate, white designs covering them and the other two were a reverse version of the first. The wooden boarder was white, and the floor was of white wood. The rug under Wendy's queen-sized bed was rose petal pink. The bedsheets were pink with white, fluffy cloud and rainbow designs on them. There was a white and pink, wooden dresser/vanity near the door. The room had a walk-in closet and there was a pink canopy over the bed. The large picture windows looked out at a dreary, dark outside world. And for some odd reason, Gomez and Morticia were the only ones in that house who were happy about the weather. There was also a glass case near the windows, and in it was a hundred academic achievement awards, dance trophies, honour roll certificates and spelling bee awards. Morticia could not believe her once delightfully depressive Wednesday was now becoming a just, moral, productive member of society. It was infuriating.

Morticia turned on the pink, cat-shaped lamp that sat atop the small beside table and sat at the foot of the bed.

Wendy turned over and sat up, and it would not take a genius to know that she had been crying.

Morticia did feel terrible for her. "Wendy-"

"You have some nerve, ya know that?" Wendy cut her off.

"Excuse me?" Well, this took a turn.

"As if you don't know." Wendy scoffed.

"I don't know." Morticia admitted. "I don't know why you don't want me near you, or why you seem to be very much against my being near anyone in your family, or why-"

"I never said that."

Morticia eyed Wendy, knowingly. "You didn't have to." She stated. "I can tell. I don't know why you seem to grow more resentful towards me with each passing day when I am trying to make the exact opposite happen."

"Well, then, maybe that's why I'm so angry." Wendy crossed her arms. "I've been spending these past few days trying to figure out if you're simply unaware of the damage you caused or you just don't care."

"What are you talking about?"

Wendy wanted to scream. _"Damn you!"_ She hit the pillow. " _I'm talking about my father._ I'm talking. About. My father. My father has been the _definition_ of sadness and grief ever since I can remember. He was the living version of those overdramatic tv commercials for depression. He was _hurt. Bad. You,_ " Wendy pointed an accusing finger at her aunt. " _You_ are the reason that he is the way he is! _You_ are the reason that my father and my mother never acted like they really loved each other! _You broke my father_ , and _destroyed_ my chances of growing up feeling loved by my mother because _my father loves you!_ " She was out of breath. _"Damn it, I hate you!_ I hate you because my father loves you. _And for God's sake, you had to fuck off to Paris._ " She cried. "And as if, that was not enough, you had to come back and try to ruin everything again. You had to come back, and get close to him and my brother. Well, you're not gonna get close to me. You had _some nerve_ calling me by my full name, as if you were my mother when you _didn't even_ _know me_ up until a few days ago. So yes, Aunt Morticia, I resent you. I resent you because once you leave again… my father is going to die. And it's going to be all your fault." She laughed, bitterly. "And do you know what the really _sick_ part is? You won't stop being nice to me. You won't stop making me wish that…" She couldn't bring herself to say that. No, no she couldn't. "You won't stop making me love you." She sniffled.

Well, no wonder nobody in that house was reacting just the way she hoped. Morticia was thought to be a monster in this reality. Something had to have forced her to leave. She would never intentionally leave Gomez, not in a million years, not ever. And to hear, that her leaving had caused this child to not only grow up too fast, but bear the burden of knowing what caused it? But the real kicker, _the real kicker_ may have well just kicked Morticia off of the edge of a cliff. _She_ had audacity to act as though she were Wendy's mother? _Ophelia_ had the audacity to make her her own, steal her from her sister, push her out and give her a different identity.

"Wendy, I'm not leaving." Morticia said to her.

Wendy's crying subsided for now. "What?" She asked.

Morticia fully turned to Wendy. "I love you, too. I love you and I love your brother and I _do_ , love your father." She told her. "I do not know what drove me to do what I did but it was wrong, and I regret that. I regret that more than anything in the world. If I could go back and change what I did, I promise you, I would." Morticia explained. "As a matter of fact, I'm working on it." She added, quietly. "Please forgive me, and try to understand that I would rather shoot myself in the heart than hurt you."

"It's very hard to shoot yourself in the heart." Wendy stated, calmly.

Morticia was surprised. For a moment, she sounded like Wednesday. Her beautiful, wonderful, masochistic little spider. "I would find a way." She replied. "I will be damned if I leave you children or your father. I don't care if a certain someone actively tries to mow me down with an AK-47 every day, I am not. Going. Anywhere." Morticia put a hand on her knee.

"How can I be so sure?" Wendy smiled, slightly. How was it possible that in just a few short days, she would end up loving the one person that she had blamed for everything?

"You can't, darling." Morticia answered, honestly. "But that's the beauty of life, I suppose."

"And death." Wendy's smile broadened.

"Yes." Morticia chuckled. "That, too."

She then hugged Wendy, tightly and they stayed like that for a few minutes.

Wendy then broke the embrace, and yawned.

Morticia took this as a sign that Wendy was spent, and she walked to the door of her niece's bedroom.

"Aunt Morticia?" Wendy's eyes began to close, and she took the braid out of her hair.

Morticia looked over at her. "Yes?"

"I don't hate you."

Morticia nodded, and flashed a small smile. "I know."

With those words, she walked out of Wendy's bedroom and downstairs into the kitchen for a cup of tea.

Morticia was singing her and Gomez's song, Goodbye Sweet Sanity. She always did, to cope.

"Ah, what a beautiful song."

Morticia jumped, startled. "Jeeves!"

"Oh, I apologize, Ms. Frump." Jeeves pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table. "Do forgive me, you must be exhausted."

"It's quite alright." Morticia sipped her tea, leaning at the kitchen table.

Despite it being now late at night, Jeeves still wore his working attire, as if it were mid-day. He sat down at the kitchen table, across from Ms. Frump. "How was the game?" He appeared nervous.

Morticia thought the man quite odd, but nothing was unusual so far besides the fact that he was following her. And she had done nothing too note-worthy so far besides warm up to Wendy.

"Fine, thank you." Morticia replied.

"Are you enjoying your stay, Ms. Frump?" Jeeves asked, playing with his collar, seeing as it was suddenly too tight.

"Yes, it's wonderful to get acquainted with everyone." Morticia answered, eyes closing.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Ms. Frump?" Jeeves inquired.

"No, I-" Morticia thought for a moment. "Yes, actually."

"Anything. I'm always happy to help." Jeeves' eye was twitching.

This struck Morticia as very out-of-character. Something was definitely off with this man, and she decided she would try to be more careful around him. "The Addams' old butler, Lurch? Do you know whatever became of him?"

"I do." Jeeves sighed, seeming happy that this was what she had asked.

Morticia took another sip of her tea. "Would you care to disclose?"

"I would." Jeeves nodded. "He was let go, by Mrs. Addams. I don't know much but I do know that he now works at a bank in Arizona." He thought, trying to recall anything else. "Ah yes, and I heard he took a severed hand with him."

"Thing." Morticia said, quietly. She was so relieved that they were alright. But, heartbroken that their altered fate was working at a bank.

"Hmm?"

Morticia looked up, weary. "Nothing." She stood up.

"Will that be all, Ms. Frump?" Jeeves asked.

"Yes, Jeeves. Thank you." Morticia then began her departure out of the kitchen.

"Do tell Wendy to close her door." He smirked.

Morticia walked a bit faster, then, despite her exhaustion. By the time she reached her guestroom, she fell, elegantly onto the mattress.

"Rough day?" Charles, in ghost form now, asked and closed her curtains.

Morticia got under her covers and closed her eyes once her head hit the pillow. "I learned that Wendy hated me and then made her love me in the span of a solid half an hour. Then, I started a screaming riot at the Little League game."

"Umm… good, job?" Charles laughed, unsure of how to play this one.

Morticia was too beat to laugh, but smiled. "Thank you for the encouragement, father."

Charles kissed his daughter's forehead. "Hey, what else am I here for?" He then pulled the canopy over the bed. "We have to watch out for Jeeves. He's weird." He waited for a response. "Morticia?" He squinted. "Morticia?" He sighed, knowing his daughter was fast asleep. "We'll figure this out." Charles said. And he hoped his words could sink in, in her dreams.

Then, he blew out the candles by Morticia's bedside, and soundlessly opened the door. As he exited the room, his mind reminisced about the old days. Morticia was merely a child, and every night, he would put her to bed after reading her some poems or stories by their favourite author, Edgar Allan Poe (or Mr. Poe, as a child-version of Morticia used to call it). He would read to her until she fell asleep, and then he would kiss her, blow out her candles and exit her room, hopeful to do it again the next day.

And as Charles S. Frump ascended flight after flight of stairs to get to the attic, one particular memory came flooding back.

 _"_ _Father?" Five-year-old Morticia was such a beautiful little girl, and everything to her father. She looked just like him with her black eyes, raven hair and strong jawline. She still looked macabre as ever, despite being up, sick all night with the stomach flu._

 _"_ _Yes, my little spider?" Charles set The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe in his lap._

 _She coughed, and seeing her so sick broke her father's heart. "Can I get a raven for my birthday?" She got an excited look in her eyes. "Or vultures?"_

 _Charles smiled. "Perhaps…" He got excited with her, making her smile, which she rarely did. But, when she did, her father's heart melted. "But, what would you name them?"_

 _"_ _Hubert and Henry." Morticia nodded, assuredly, which brought on slight discomfort._

 _"_ _Hubert and Henry?" Charles pondered the name suggestion. "I like it."_

 _"_ _Me too." Morticia reached out to give her father a hug, but instead, a wave of nausea hit her. "Father…"_

 _"_ _It's alright, my dear, it's alright." Charles quickly held her and her hair while she vomited into the small, black bucket beside her large, gothic bed._

 _Morticia lied back down on her pillows, having a high pain tolerance for a child of five. "Thanks, father."_

 _"_ _What am I here for?" Charles asked, rhetorically. "Will you be alright tonight, my darling?"_

 _Morticia breathed, heavily. "I don't know." She admitted. "I can't see the future. I'm not_ _ **that**_ _kind of a witch."_

 _"_ _Darling, you can be any kind of a witch you want to be." Charles kissed her head._

 _"_ _I hope I can be a good parent like you someday, father." Morticia said._

 _"_ _You will, Morticia. And you won't be alone." Charles said. "You might not be able to see the future, but I can."_

 _"_ _You can?" Charles' daughter had stars in her eyes._

 _"_ _Mmhmm." Charles replied._

 _"_ _Really?" Morticia pretended to be skeptical. "What do you see?"_

 _"_ _Well, I see, a beautiful, strong woman. She wears a lot of black, all the time, and she's so pale, she could make a corpse blush. And she has a big lion-"_

 _"_ _Like Kitty?" Morticia asked, excitedly._

 _Charles nodded. "And a big, beautiful family. And I see a little girl that, thankfully, is going to take well after you."_

 _"_ _Are you making this up?" Morticia coughed._

 _Charles took her hand. "Would you believe me if I said I saw a pair of vultures in the near future?"_

 _"_ _Yes." Morticia replied._

 _"_ _Mmm… selective skepticism. Nice." He rolled his eyes. "I love you, my daughter. Don't you forget it."_

 _Morticia closed her eyes and cold, cocooned herself in her black blankets. "I won't, father. I love you, too."_

 _"_ _Goodnight, Morticia." Charles kissed her forehead one last time, and opened his daughter's dark brown door to exit the room. "Rest in peace."_

The next morning -Charles remembered as he crawled onto the old mattress in the attic- he came into his sick daughter's room. And in his arms, was a big cage. And she threw her arms around him when in that cage, she saw two vultures.


	14. Paradoxal Bliss

Morticia lie flat on her bed that September 30th, two days before Gomez's thirty eighth birthday… just exactly two weeks before her deadline. Two weeks before Morti- Ophelia and Gomez's anniversary. And with her deadline just mere weeks away, Morticia was a bundle of nerves on the inside. It was noon and she still had not gotten out of bed except to get ready for the day (only to get back onto the mattress). She knew, though, that she would have to soon.

Ten days had gone by, and each day was torturous. Morticia was happy, true, that Wendy had stopped resenting her now ten days ago. Peter seemed to like her, while not completely understanding her yet. But Morticia, even when these two children were her children, had never been fully understood by them. By anyone. The only person alive who ever so completely understood Morticia was her other half, Gomez Addams. She prayed, clung to the hope that that love and complete understanding was still there. And she has somewhat of a feeling she was right.

Morticia wished she could say that she and Gomez would be in each other's arms any moment, even any day now but she couldn't. Gomez seemed very conflicted, and she sometimes had to remind herself he could not possibly had fallen in love with Ophelia Gomez's heart belonged to Morticia, and only Morticia… but Morticia's mind did, on occasion, wonder if it was him, that now belonged to Ophelia. And how that scared her.

Canopy pulled back and bedsheets not even in so much as slight disarray, Morticia rested there. The enchanted box that had resurrected the spirit of Morticia's father lie on her flat stomach, and her pale, delicate hands played with it, absently.

"Father, I'm thirty-eight years old." Morticia said, in defense of something or other that Charles had just said.

Charles sat backwards on a chair -which he had manually pulled in from the attic, whilst everyone was asleep- and was facing his youngest daughter. "Morticia, I don't care if you are _one-hundred_ -thirty-eight. You're still my daughter."

Morticia sighed. "I'm alright, father, really. I'm going to eat, I just wasn't hungry enough to get out of bed this morning."

"Morticia…" Charles was not oft truly worried for his daughter, but lately, he noticed, she had been sleeping later. True, Morticia had always been a bit nocturnal, but now… and even when she didn't sleep in, she was awake half the night. Both nondisturbing and nondisturbed, but awake.

"Father," Morticia's head turned to meet her concerned father's eyes. "I'm just waking up." She stared up at the ceiling. "It's getting harder and harder to wake up every morning." She stated, more to herself.

"I know." Charles nodded, in unconvincing assurance.

Morticia, with grace and a mild amount of tiredness, finally arose. "Would you feel better if I went downstairs and ate lunch?" She sighed. She loved her father dearly and wished not to cause him distress. It would break his poor, old heart if he knew his daughter was practically dying without her husband. Dying, but remaining strong at the hope that she would soon be able to be with him again.

God, she would give anything for just one touch, one caress, one beautiful, whispered word of love and devotion, one… one promise that he was not going anywhere, that he never would, ever again. But Morticia doubted that was going to happen today, and had to remind herself every passing second that it needed to happen soon.

But, what, exactly? Would a kiss work? It had to be an act between the two of them, a physical act. So, would it be a kiss? Or…? Morticia let a sly smile spread across the face of her heart. Part of her prayed it was something more. She had never been without her husband's adoring hands and lips exploring the entirety of her ever-so-willing body for this long. Oh, and it was killing her. But, the dying and heartsick beauty was right, Charles would break if he knew the whole of her ail.

"Yes," Charles responded. "It would."

Morticia nodded and slightly opened the door. She turned her head 180° and noticed her father, still nonchalantly sitting in the chair by her bedside, as if she were still there.

Little did Charles' daughter know, the sweet memory from last night was still fresh in his mind.

"Well, are you coming?" Morticia asked, politely.

Charles' head snapped up. "Yes." He was about to walk out of the room when Morticia stopped him, cautiously.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Morticia inquired.

Charles felt his pockets, then, and searched about the room with his daughter's eyes. "No, I seem to- ah yes!" He remembered, quirkily sticking his finger up in the air, in discovery. "Of course." He quickly possessed Morticia's -by now, worn out- snake and was draped over his daughter's shoulders.

Morticia heard bustling about and saw Jeeves whisk by with pastel streamers, glittering party hats and other Ophelia-esque decorations that made Morticia want to turn back around and head into the bedroom. But, she knew she couldn't do that. Come heaven or highwater, she would have to face it like a lady.

Whilst her younger sister's deep emotional trauma from this whole experience caught up to her, Ophelia was happily -though not without a severe amount of easily avoidable stress- going over plans for her husband's birthday party with Linda and the girls.

"Uh huh." Ophelia gestured with her hands to a spot in the grand hall in the corner. "Right there, is where the two- no. _Three_ \- no. Four- no." She nodded. "Yes, four." She decided. " _That_ is where the four layer cake will be."

The grand hall was a massive, circular ballroom. It had a white and gold, porcelain tile floor with touches of silver. The arched walls were made of clean, clear glass that looked out at the backyard garden. Between the glass window-walls, was ivory-coloured material to separate the arches. The ivory was covered in white, Victorian deigns. Curtains were partially drawn over the walls, which were white with intricate, swirled, silver and gold designs on them. In the middle of the room, was a humungous, _Phantom of the Opera_ chandelier. The double doors were ivory, and marble with gold door knockers that were shaped like lions. The room could comfortably fit at least three hundred people.

The sun brightly shone through the walls as Ophelia ordered her butler around and explained her lavish ideas to the group of impressed women behind her.

"What do you girls think?" Ophelia smiled, widely.

"I think it's a fine idea." Suzanne said, obviously jealous.

"Yes, dear, but I'm a little confused." Donna said.

"You're always confused." Gail examined her nails.

"Oh, Gail." Donna really had wanted to say, _Shut up, Gail. You're an idiot, Gail. You know absolutely nothing, Gail. Stop acting fucking better than me, Gail. Watch it, Gail. Goddamn_ \- but she didn't. She simply took it, so as not to be talked about later. But it would prevent no such thing.

Ophelia, half-listening, did not even bother to turn her head. "Confused about what?" She queried.

"Well, where are you going to put the orchestra?"

Ophelia gestured towards the other end of the room. "Over there somewhere, all the dancing is in here."

"But, then what about the-"

Ophelia sighed and held up a commanding hand. "The ethnic foods are all going on our glass, rectangle table and the wine and Fiji Water goes on that table as well."

 _"_ _Ooh."_ The girls nodded, in approval and in unison.

"Pony rides?" Linda inquired.

Ophelia shook her head, _no._ "No, that's for the children's birthday parties." She replied.

"Wise choice." Linda tapped the side of her head, indicating a smart cookie, with her nail.

Ophelia paused. "We're getting West Asian Elephants."

"Ah." The ladies said together, rapt.

Linda then realized something. "West _African_."

Ophelia waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever." She looked over at a stressed Jeeves. "Jeeves, come to the middle of the room."

Jeeves, perspiring, nodded and walked too the middle of the room, arms still full of party decorations. "Yes, Madame." He did as instructed.

The girls shook their head, disapprovingly.

Suzanne scoffed. "You can't put that _there!_ "

Ophelia nodded, in agreement. "No, of course not." She gestured for Jeeves to move left, and he did. "I don't like that either. No." Ophelia spoke her thoughts aloud. "What kind of woman puts the spiral staircase from Gone with the Wind _indoors?_ "

"Spiral staircase?" Linda excitedly asked.

"Mmhmm." Ophelia nodded. "I love those."

"So, what did ya get him?" Suzanne's elbow, clothed in a white, puffy, elbow-length sleeve (attached to a low-cut, white, short dress) gently nudged Ophelia.

"Well," Ophelia distanced herself, slightly. As she did so, her high-low dress swooshed. The dress was silk and bright yellow. It was strapless and had a sweetheart neckline. She wore white, satin, four inch high heels and a short, light, white shawl-sweater with the ensemble. Her jewelry was of white diamonds, and her earrings were made to look like tiny daisies. "We're going to the Royal Gardens." She turned and giddily smiled at her followers- friends. She turned and smiled giddily at her _friends_.

"That new hotel?" Suzanne, in feigned excitement, got a gleam in her eyes.

"That's the one." Ophelia made sure to make it appear like she was in 7th heaven every day, and for the women, it worked. It worked like a spell.

"When?" Donna questioned.

Ophelia gave a light, airy sigh. "From October 10th to the 11th."

"Oh." The ladies all looked at each other, unspoken words of envy being exchanged.

"Shame, really." Ophelia remarked, then explained the comment. "Apparently we took the spot from some girl from Make a Wish, I don't know." She waved her manicured hand, dismissively. "Anyway, c'est la vie. She'll get over it." She took Linda's hands and jumped, excitedly. "We're going to Royal Gardens!"

Morticia sat in the large garden, containing a stone walkway, paths galore, massive rose bushes, daisies, unsightly geraniums, lilies, that fountain, a white gazebo and even a pond. She sat, specifically, under the weeping willow tree -which too accurately represented Morticia's emotions for her liking at the present (sun on her back, crying…)- with the children. They rested on the freshly mowed grass, green as the envy of the women in the grand hall whom were not Ophelia.

Morticia used the small, sharp knife and finished carving her stick. "How to make a large, sharp-pointed object." She finished.

"Like a sword?" Peter asked.

"Yes, like a sword."

"Or a knife?" Wendy was barely even allowed to talk about knives, let alone make one out of a stick. But, Ophelia was not here and she did not at all need to know about this.

"Yes." Morticia answered. "That, too."

Wendy soon finished whittling her stick. "Like this?"

Morticia examined it. "Very good, darling." She held Wendy's stick up in comparison to her own. It was perfect, almost an exact replica. "Very good." She handed the weapon back to her niece, gracefully.

Peter, paying no attention, accidentally picked up the snake and raised the silver, sharp blade to it.

Charles hissed, causing the child to jump.

"You're stick hissed." Wendy remarked, just to be smart.

Morticia's eyes slightly widened and she carefully took the snake from Peter and exchanged it for his stick. She then, safely draped Charles around her shoulders. "Rule number three," She began, having already covered the first two. "Do make sure your stick doesn't hiss." She winked at Wendy.

Peter rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue at his sister and aunt. "So, whado we use these things for?" He held his stick up to Morticia's, in comparison.

Compared to his aunt's, Peter's stick was a mockery of both a stick, and a sword. It was funny-shaped and somehow lopsided (albeit having not started out that way). It was barely sharp enough to go through a block of cheese.

Morticia gave a sympathetic look at her nephew and with the elegance of an evil queen, took the stick from

Peter and set it on the ground. "Well, Wendy would be using hers to…" She thought for a moment. "Well, these sticks are mostly for if one is in dire straits. However, one really should not be without a pocket knife, especially a child." She explained.

"You can hunt with it. Like fish and stuff." Peter said.

"Yes, and you can use it for…" Wendy looked briefly at Peter but shook the weird, sadistic thought that had just come to her out of her head. "Self-defense." She decided. Why else would her aunt show them these crazy things?

"True." Morticia nodded. "Peter, you should be using this," She handed Peter a pocket knife. "To sharpen this and even it out a bit. Wendy can help you."

"I got it." Peter waved away his half-willing sister and began whittling away at the beat-to-hell stick again.

There was a moment of calm silence, until Peter spoke again.

"Why don't we surprise father for his birthday?"

Wendy and Morticia shared a confused but excited look in their eerily similar eyes.

"What do you mean?" Morticia asked.

"Ya know, like do something cool. The parties mother plans are always so boring, they're always the same. Her and her weird friends play dumb games and drink wine, we ride elephants, father pretends to care, ya know?" Peter looked to Wendy, seeking validation.

Wendy gave a confirming nod. "He _is_ right. Father acts a lot like you, he would probably like some kind of weird surprise."

Morticia thought, perhaps, it was a bit reckless. _Finally,_ they were coming around. "Would your mother?" She questioned the children.

Peter looked down. "I mean, I probably not."

"Are you kidding me?" Wendy did wonder about her little brother sometimes. "She'd use the sticks we made to disembowel us."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Now, children your mother doesn't have enough knowledge of how to properly disembowel someone to do that."

Peter gulped, still not fully comfortable with his aunt's odd remarks. "Right."

"Well, you're the genius who brought it up. And now the worst part is, I'm in on it." Wendy said.

"I'm not opposed to it." Morticia leaned against the tree. "But, it's your plan. Let's see if you can put those brains to good use."

"Yea, but I don't know how to do any of the hard stuff." Peter played with his makeshift mini-sword in his hands.

"And I do?" Wendy raised her eyebrows.

"Yea." Peter nodded. "Yea, you do."

Wendy smiled. "I know."

Peter leaned in towards his older sister. "What's the plan?"

Gomez, having just come back from a meeting with Tully, entered the grand hall. He wore a white, light shirt, black jeans and black boots. "Ladies!" He greeted them, putting on his happy face.

"Gomez!" They all greeted him.

Gomez walked up to his wife and kissed her cheek. "I just wanted to come say hello and ask how the party planning is coming along."

Ophelia smiled. "It's going well." She kissed him. "Now, get out. It's all a surprise."

The show they put on for the ladies was entertaining enough, but Gomez was more than happy to comply with Ophelia's request. "Alright." He replied and began to walk away. "Morticia?" He called.

Ophelia practically ran to him and frantically pulled him back into the ballroom. "What are you doing? Stay, Gomez."

Gomez was very confused and his heart sank when- _Stop that. Your heart is fine, you're fine. Your wife does this ridiculous- sweet, kind, normal thing for you, normally, every normal year._ _ **Normal,**_ _being the key word. That raven haired goddess- that_ _ **woman**_ _is not part of the normal equation. Get it through your thick head that she is your sister-in-law you miserable bastard!_ Gomez's mind was yelling at him again. _God, all I want to do I pull her in and put my lips on those- shut up! No. Stop it. Be present. Be pleasant._

"So, we're going to put the spiral staircase over there." Ophelia had apparently been talking her husband's ear off for the past minute. "And the pastel streamers all throughout the house, mainly this room."

And try as his conscience might, it was in vain. Confused Gomez Addams could not help but continuously let his thoughts wander to the gothic beauty, in the backyard, with his children.


	15. Take Me Now or Take Me Shopping

October 1st. It was October 1st, the day of Gomez's thirty-eighth birthday and party, and still… nothing.

Morticia had but twelve. Days. Left. And the only contact she had really been able to receive from the man who was once starved for her lips after being out of her general vicinity for more than a couple of hours, was a kiss on the hand before bed.

Every time she saw Gomez with Ophelia, a knife felt like it was being twisted in her heart. He looked so unhappy, and not in the blissful sense. He looked broken, and Morticia still felt she had caused it. She blamed herself for everything that was going on in the midst of Sensus Inversus, and her father, no matter what he said or did, would not be changing her mind any time soon.

The party had just started, and Morticia, try as she might, could not understand why on earth they were having it mid-day. Who had ever heard of dancing the night away at noon? She grimaced, her nocturnal nature barring its claws.

Charles wished he could be there, but he knew it would be too risky. Ophelia, or thee children, any one of them could see him.

So, he simply gave his brave. Youngest daughter a kiss and a hug and told her to tough it out for the party, and hopefully, soon, Gomez would stop fighting his love for her.

Morticia walked into the grand hall, and not one of the two-hundred-sixty-five party attendees neglected to stare at her. She was not left to wonder why, either. She was not blind, she knew perfectly well that she stuck out like a sore thumb at this party. She also knew Gomez had nothing to do with the planning of its events nor that of its décor.

Outside -as the Addams' plot of land was so massive, sometimes they, themselves forgot just how very much was theirs- there were two West African or West Asian, as the ignorant Ophelia had suggested, elephants decorated with pastel saddles. Toward the left end of the garden was an enormous, grand spiral staircase that was straight out of Gone with the Wind, as Ophelia had wanted to walk down that staircase and greet her guests with her husband. One knew just how good that would look, in front of their guests, all but a select few who were of relation or relevance to Ophelia. On the table towards the entrance of the garden, was a rectangular, glass table with ethnic food, Fiji Water and wine, neatly spread across its entirety. Pastel balloons were tied down in the garden, one tied to one of the trunks of each of those poor, overworked elephants. Matching streamers, some white, were spread throughout the garden as well (or at least the parts where the guest would be).

The interior of the Addams' mansion was elegantly decorated with of course, pastel-coloured… everything. The streamers strewn across the ceilings and over a few furniture pieces, _pastel._ The light, expensive, severely overpriced décor from napkins to glasses, to tablecloths, to plates, _pastel._ If one did not guess already, _pastel_ was the theme of this party. Last year it was red and white, before, it was yellow and white, the year before that, it was white and pink. Now, instead of looking like a much-too-basic wealthy woman's wet dream, it looked like the Easter Bunny came and left a mess instead of eggs.

Inside of the ballroom, which Morticia had just entered, the orchestra was in the corner and on the opposite end was a table with a white tablecloth, and a four-layer cake with white frosting, pastel pink, blue and yellow flowers all over it and a lavender boarder. A white, spiral topper with the number, 38, rested neatly atop the cake.

However, the worst thing, was what Morticia noticed immediately upon entering. It was one of the truly most horrifying sights Morticia had seen since Ophelia trying to seduce her husband.

Every. Single. Person. At that party. Was wearing pastels. Every single person except, Morticia assumed, Gomez. But she could see neither he nor her sister. However, she could barely tell who was who.

All of those people had unsettling, fake grins on their face, happy to show off their perfect hair, perfect teeth and perfect clothes. It was a perfect, pastel party and Morticia felt sick to even consider herself to be a part of it. God, once- if, she resolved any of this, Gomez was going to owe her. Not that he would have a problem with it. But, damn it all, this party was disgusting.

 _Oh, Gomez…_ Morticia thought as she looked about the grand hall. _What has she done to this place, mon diable?_

When Morticia walked through the open double doors, everyone whom was casually talking to one another, presumably about their older sons' and daughters' college scholarships and the twenty-five to fifty thousand-dollar private schools which they were attending, stopped abruptly. They stopped, and they all turned to stare at the witch who walked into the room. Even the orchestra stopped playing.

It was dead silent.

Morticia remembered how this scene looked in a recurring nightmare she would have as a child. Only, these people weren't uncomfortably grinning at her and holding pitchforks. Yes, pitchforks. Third grade bullies at school can indeed make terrible threats to a young witch who doesn't understand that her ability is a gift. These people were not doing that. Not yet, anyways.

Still, head high and dignified, the black enchantress glided into the ballroom. And as she did, she could hear and see the partygoers holding their hands up to each other's' ears and whispering or simply.

 _Yes, how terribly impolite of me to stand, silent and dignified, not saying a word while you all openly whisper about me and brag to one another about little Lucifer's college fund. I'm such a monster._ Morticia thought to herself, sarcastically as she walked.

In comparison to the perky, pastel party attendees, Morticia was a rare black orchid. She looked absolutely stunning. The opposite of her soon-to-arrive sister, her long, flowing gown was tight at the waist and swept the floor. It was black, and low cut in a deep V-neck. The sleeves of the dress were long, and lace with intricate, black, gothic designs in them. With the dress, she wore a black corset with -slightly hard to notice to the naked eye- black, velvet pentagram patterns on it. Going up the back of the corset and holding it in place were black buttons. Along with the beautifully macabre gown, she wore black, three-and-a-half-inch high heels. Her stiletto nails were crimson, pairing well with her red wine lips. Of course, she had her signature, black smoky eyes. She had dawned dangling, black diamond earrings with a black diamond ankle bracelet. On her right hand, she wore a black, gothic ring.

Morticia could not find anyone she knew, so she walked toward the back wall, and the few people there dispersed like frightened fish in a tank with a bloodthirsty shark.

But, soon enough, the orchestra near the end of the room uneasily started playing again, and the party seemed to resume.

Bored, and having no dance partner, Morticia decided to do what she did back at the high school dances that Hailie couldn't make it to, and stand around or slightly sway to the music.

However, in a matter of ten minutes, she no longer had to.

Men, seven men, walked into the grand hall. Many were dressed in white and another colour, but a couple of them were dressed in dark coloured suits, one in black and dark purple, one in black and crimson, and another in black and dark blue. These men, were none other than the only ones Gomez really knew showing up at the party, his friends: Fredrick, Juan Diego (black and blue), Esteban, Alejandro (black and crimson), Santiago, Dante and his best friend since childhood, Enrique (black and dark purple). They were true friends, and while they agreed not with Gomez's way of life, they knew it was not his choice, and they stuck by him for some, more than twenty-five years.

The gentlemen were still skirt chasers, only one of them actually having gotten married about ten years ago, and that was Dante. Skirt chasers, with some amount of class, however. They loved women and women loved them (especially Enrique), true, but they held their doors and ordered them food. Most women used them for luxury and arm candy for a day, or a week, two at most, and they used most women for a good time. But these women knew what they were in for, both parties were always equally aware the relationship would not become serious (Dante exempt, of course).

Morticia stood in a corner, elegantly drinking a glass of white wine. She was not the biggest fan; however, Ophelia never drank red, Morticia's favourite. Perhaps, that was why?

The seven men whom walked in's eyes immediately captured the voluptuous beauty in the back of the room, and they like dogs, they got excited and stared at each other.

Enrique fixed his jacket. "Put your tongues back in your mouths, gentlemen." He smiled. "She's mine."

"In your dreams!" Alejandro scoffed. "You always get first pick, not this time."

"Not true. Remember Delilah?" Enrique justified.

"I do. I also remember that she was Fredrick's ex-girlfriend so of course he got dibs." Juan Diego whined, not taking his eyes off of Morticia.

"What about Victoria?" Esteban asked, fighting to maintain his composure as he was still staring at the enchantress in the back of the room.

Dante's eyes widened. _"My wife?"_

Enrique sighed, then said, nonchalantly, "I fucked your wife."

 _"_ _What?"_ Dante figured this conversation took a real turn."

" _Before_ you were married, old man. Don't be jealous."

Dante was having a bit of trouble believing this. "At that party?" He questioned.

Enrique took out a cigar and lit it. "Yes."

"At _my_ _mother's afterparty from her funeral?_ "

"Yes."

"You…" Dante couldn't believe it. "You fucked my wife."

"I did." Enrique was shameless.

"Umm…" Alejandro raised his hand, semi-sheepish. "So, did I."

Dante's eyes bulged again, his jaw dropped. "You _both_ fucked my wife?" He asked.

"Well, the only ones who didn't were Esteban and Fredrick." Juan Diego awkwardly pointed out.

 _"_ _Even you?"_ Dante questioned his friend.

"Sorry, amigo." Juan Diego's accent was thick.

Dante, offended but slightly proud, shook his head. "Bastards."

"Alright, I'm snatching up that beauty before anyone else gets half the chance." Esteban licked his lips.

Fredrick pushed him. "I don't think so, amigo. She's mine."

Enrique laughed. "Ha! Not a chance." He briskly began to walk over to the intoxicating creature his eyes had found.

The rest of the men made an unspoken plan to give Enrique the benefit of the doubt. None of them would have a chance in hell if they all flocked to her.

Enrique, six-foot-one with a six pack, skin the shade of his best friend's and brown eyes, suavely smoked his cigar when he approached her. "Hello, my lady." He greeted her.

Morticia looked him up and down. "Hello."

Enrique decided to pull out stop number one. "I'm going to be very upfront with you. I walked into this room and was instantly intoxicated when my eyes found you."

Morticia's flirtatious manner was not lost on Enrique. A part of her truly was sadistic… Gomez used to love that part of her. She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Enrique nodded. "Oh, yes."

"Thank you." Morticia replied.

Enrique had never been intimidated by a woman in his life but her eyes… he could look at her body all day but he would always come back to her eyes. "I must say, I was truly surprised by your standing here by yourself."

"And why is that?" Morticia questioned.

"Why, you're breathtaking." Enrique held the cigar in his hand. He kissed her hand. "I'm Enrique Delgado."

Morticia's mind had been racing with thoughts of her husband that she had completely forgotten. Enrique was Gomez's best friend, he was the best man at their wedding. He had probably come with those men she had seen, and now remembered, earlier. Well, this just became interesting. "I'm Morticia Frump."

Enrique seemed speechless. "Pardon me, what did you say?"

"I'm Morticia Frump." Morticia repeated herself, calmly.

"Morticia…" Enrique new instantly who she was. He was the only one out of Gomez's group of friends who did know about her.

While overcome with thoughts, Juan Diego walked right up to her. "Ophelia has a sister?"

Morticia nodded. "She does."

"Did they keep you in the attic for twenty years or something?" Juan Diego's humour typically worked on women like a charm. "We've never seen you."

"No but good guess." Morticia chuckled. "I was in Paris."

"Paris?" Esteban smirked when he approached Morticia. "Eifel Tower, Pere le Chez… French." He kissed Morticia's hand. "Esteban Martinez."

Morticia smiled with her black eyes. "It's a pleasure."

"Well, it will be." Juan Diego winked at her.

Soon, all seven men were crowding around her and had introduced themselves.

Morticia sat on the vacant Victorian couch while the men tried to win her over, only Enrique seemed genuine. He appeared to know something that the others did not. But Morticia did find it quite amusing, all of them desperately fighting for her attention. They went from suave and sophisticated to unraveled rather quickly.

"I noticed you the minute I walked in." Fredrick said, like he was going to tell a story about… what, exactly? He barely knew this woman.

"How very kind." Morticia's voice did have an interesting range. And seductive, it lowered slightly.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Juan Diego asked.

Morticia took a sip of wine. "No thank you, but I appreciate it."

These men went from ready to charm Morticia and pick her up to willing to let her use their backs as a foot stool.

A waltz soon began to play, and Morticia showed no emotion as she waited for their next moves.

Enrique knew exactly who she was. He knew, and he didn't not want to hurt his best friend, not like that. He was a skirt chaser but he was also loyal. He raised an eyebrow at Alejandro.

Alejandro was six feet tall, and fit with dark skin and black, wavy hair. "Care to dance, Morticia?" He extended a hand.

The others were boiling with jealousy and made a mental plan to chase this woman for the rest of the party. They seemed to have a competition going on -rules being exchanged by way of what one could only assume was telekinesis- to see which one of them would end up taking Morticia Frump home first.

Morticia gracefully handed her drink to a willing Juan Diego and took Alejandro's extended hand. "Of course."

Alejandro, feeling lucky and feeling in the lead, snaked his arm around her waist and took her hand with the other. The pair got into position, and soon, they were off.

They danced through the crowd, and Morticia was twirled between being partners with three of the men now. Two of which, had let their hands get close to her butt. One of which, let his hand rest right on it. And he may have, but Morticia didn't.

Then, as if by magic, Ophelia and Gomez appeared in the ballroom.

Ophelia wore a long, strapless, flowing white gown. It was low cut in a sweetheart neckline. She wore white, four-inch-high heels and a white diamond ankle bracelet. Her eyeshadow was gold and white, while her lips were pink. She wore white nail polish with a single daisy design on each nail. Her diamond stud earrings were also made to look like daisies, and her bracelet was of white diamonds. If Morticia was a dictionary definition, Ophelia would be right there under antonyms.

Gomez, on the other hand, looked as though he belonged standing next to the woman whom was dancing with his friends. He was clothed in a black and burgundy suit, with a black tie that had burgundy, gothic designs all over it. His dress shoes were black and he coolly smoked an expensive cigar.

Gomez's eyes scanned the room, looking for just one person. And his blood boiled when he did find her… dancing with Santiago. He could not understand why he was so jealous- _Stop it._ His mind commanded. _Stop it this instant! You love your wife. You are going to dance with your wife. Right. Now. I don't care how beautiful she is. She is not your- oh. My. God. Please tell me your seeing this enchanting apparition, too- I mean, no, goddamit! No. No. Stop. Stop it, now. She's looking at you, isn't she? Isn't she? No. No. Do not look there. Stop it! No. How am I supposed to help you if you keep staring down at her-you bastard!_

"Gomez, I'm going to go outside and get the food ready." Ophelia kissed him. "Come with me?"

Gomez shook his head, trying to get his mind out of Morticia, wait! Damn. He shook his head, trying to get Morticia out of his mind. "I think I'll stay here, darling. I believe Enrique is here."

Ophelia nodded, trying to be extra sweet today before all of these people. "I'll ring when the food is ready." Before the words even left her throat, her husband was walking towards his friends… and in turn, walking towards her sister! Quickly, she left the room, needing to hurry it up with the food.

A few short minutes after their mother decided the food was good enough to eat, Wendy and Peter set up one of their tricks. The children sneakily sat under the table, patiently waiting.

"Do you think father will like it?" Peter asked, not caring about getting his clothes dirty. He hated them, anyway. He wasn't too keen on the idea of wearing a pastel tuxedo. The undershirt was white, as were his dress shoes. He wore a pastel blue bow tie and a white Rolex watch. Many of the male guests wore top hats to match their tuxedos, but Peter was not one of them. He could not lose _that_ much of his dignity in a single day. +6

Wendy gestured for her brother to lower his volume. "He had better." She replied. She wore a pastel lavender, sleeveless and silk, flowing high-low dress. With the dress, she wore white formal flats, white diamond stud earrings, a white and lavender diamond bracelet and a white ring, with a lavender heart gem atop it. Her hair was pushed over her shoulder in a French braid. Her nails were painted pastel lavender with white stripes. "And anyways, if he doesn't, we can just blame it on Aunt Morticia." She remarked.

Peter opened his mouth to object.

 _"_ _I'm kidding."_ Wendy interrupted.

Peter nodded in approval.

Wendy smiled. "Kind of."

Gomez walked towards Morticia, whom was dancing with Juan Diego now. His legs and his brain were clashing again.

 _What are you doing, you bastard? Stop walking! She isn't yours, you have a wife! No, no, I will_ _ **not**_ _look at her. I refuse. Honestly, what kind of man- keep walking! God, her hips, the way that they-_ _ **no.**_ _No. You will not fool me today, sir. Nay, I say. Nay. You are wrong._ _ **I**_ _am right. I am trying to prevent your life from going on another downward spiral. Do you want that? Are you willing to sacrifice all that was built for seduction? You fool! Tell me to look at her one more time. Go ahead, Mr. Addams._ _ **I dare you.**_ _She is-_ _ **stunning.**_ _Oh God! Sometimes I hate you. Just… keep… agh! Madness! Torture! Seduction!_ _ **Kill me!**_ _Just. Please, stop walking. I cannot take this._

Gomez ignored his thoughts and walked directly up to Morticia. Then, in one swift move, he got into position.

 ** _You monster._**

Morticia looked up, and was completely floored. "Gomez."

Gomez smiled. "Morticia."

Morticia was instantly ready to dance, she missed him terribly. She would give anything for just, one-

 _Ring._

The first gong sounded. Time to eat.

Morticia felt a pang of embarrassment as she broke position. "Happy birthday, Gomez." She managed to say.

"Thank you, Morticia." Gomez then began to walk out of the ballroom with the rest of the party, and took a cigar out of his pocket to smoke, desperately needing one.

Morticia was accompanied out by all seven of the men who had wanted her, being held by the arm by Dante, who's wife would throw a fit.

However, once all of the partygoers were out in the garden by the ethnic food and drink table, all was not as it normally was.

With confusion, the attendees realized that a thick fog was spreading throughout the backyard.

Variations of, _What on earth? What's going on?_ and _But, it's broad daylight._ were said from person to person.

Morticia allowed herself to smile at the children's handiwork. Strategically placed fog machines. Original, for the way they grew up.

Ophelia could barely see and she _clinked_ her glass.

Everyone shushed up.

"Don't worry, our faithful butler, Jeeves will get rid of it." Ophelia smiled.

Gomez was loving it. He laughed, and Morticia's heart bounced through her chest. "Get rid of it?" He asked. "Why would-"

 _"_ _Shh."_ Ophelia shushed him, quietly and nudged him. "Get rid of it, Jeeves." She ordered.

Gomez sighed and waited for Jeeves to do as he was instructed.

He would have, really. There was just, a slight malfunction.

"But, how, Mrs. Addams?" Jeeves questioned.

Ophelia snapped her teeth. "I don't know, dust or something."

Jeeves seemed confused by this. "You wish for me to _dust_ the _fog?_ "

"Yes, it isn't a hard concept." Ophelia responded, impatiently, to the awkwardness of the partygoers. "Now, I don't pay you to ride elephants and eat ethnic food. Please get to work."

Jeeves was not standing up too straight anymore, and he exhaled, deeply. "Yes, Mrs. Addams."

The fog -no thanks to the overworked Jeeves- had cleared up and distributed enough for most of the guests to see.

The guests eyed the supposedly ethnic food, suspiciously. Something appeared off about it. It looked somehow… wrong. Seeing as no one could put their finger on it, the hungry guests filled their plates with the promise and anticipation of delectable food.

Morticia sat back, not saying a word. She merely watched the clouds roll in, and the overcast weather begin to appear. She knew exactly what everything was, and it certainly was not the expensive cuisine that these wealthy pastel partygoers were accustomed to.

"Ah!" The scream came from not any living partygoer, but rather from the cheese that Linda had just bitten into.

Morticia held back laughter as Linda dropped the cheese and screamed, putting a hand to her heart.

The _ethnic food_ had been replaced by some of Morticia and Gomez's favourite childhood treats: entrails, scream cheese and hopping eggs. Oh, and of course eye of newt salad and cherry blood pie.

"What is it?" Ophelia asked and took a bite of salad. "I swear I heard a- holy shit!" An eye exploded in her mouth.

Everyone was too busy flying into a panic over their sabotaged food to notice Ophelia's poor conduct in regards to the English language.

Gomez could not believe his luck! _Scream cheese?_ He hadn't had that since he graduated high school! Not to mention, the other delicious treats that he hadn't even seen in Hell knows how long!

Ophelia was desperately trying to get the eye juice off of her tongue, in turn messing up some of her lipstick.

"Ophelia, I think something's wrong with the- _ah!_ " Suzanne screamed when the minute she said, _something's wrong_ , her cheese began to shriek. "Oh, dear!"

Donna's eggs were hopping off of her plate left and right, and poor Jeeves was belly flopping and diving onto the floor to try and catch them.

Gail had realized midway through her pie that that red goo in the middle was mostly blood, and when trying to drink it away, it spilled all down the front of her pastel pink dress, making the scene look like something out of Carrie.

Alejandro was ready to go in for Morticia's neck, but she gracefully moved to the side, as Gomez was walking up to her. And Alejandro, faceplanted into the ground.

"Have you tried the cheese?" Gomez asked her.

Morticia's eyes smiled. "Yes, actually. I used to love scream cheese as a child."

Gomez nodded and took another bite of the screaming food. Then, something dawned on him. He raised an eyebrow and looked around at the chaos at his party. He turned his head back to Morticia. "Did you…?"

Morticia's eyes beckoned his own to follow her gaze.

He did, and it landed on the table. Then, he understood. He nodded. "Ah."

Morticia winked and put a finger to her ruby lips, indicating that Gomez would have to keep quiet about what his discovery.

Why did you come over here? Are you trying to make yourself braindead? His mind asked him. "Thank you." Gomez said.

Morticia flashed that enchanting, illusive, Mona Lisa smile and Gomez was again, awestruck.

 _You're tearing me apart!_ His head screamed. _God, just grab her, kiss her, make love- I mean,_ _ **no.**_ _Damn it, walk away, please._ _ **Please.**_ His brain was in agony. _Walk away or_ _ **so help me God, I will-**_ "Eyeball?" Gomez offered.

 _I. Hate you._

"Are they that good?" Morticia asked, pretending to be skeptical.

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Gomez grinned.

 _I swear, you bastard, if a conscience could kill…_

Gomez took an eye off of his plate and popped it into Morticia's mouth.

Morticia didn't mine the pop it gave and ate it. "I guess they are." There was no hiding the seduction in her voice.

Having seen this, Ophelia frantically and loudly rang the second gong. "Alright, everyone!"

The party attendees waited for her to say more.

Ophelia sighed as the first -of many more to come- raindrop fell. "Time for the speeches!"

An hour later, speeches were almost through, and it was heavily raining outside, so a tired Jeeves had drawn the curtains over the walls.

Suzanne had not sipped her **rosé since she started speaking, as she was waiting until she was through with her speech. She sat on a white, elegant chair, in the middle of the ballroom. She held a wine glass in her right hand. "And, Gomez Florencia Addams… I hope your birthday is as wonderful as you are. You're a very rich- nice, man!" She was drunk. That was obvious. "Happy birthday!" She shouted.**

The partygoers clapped and cheered for the birthday man.

Then, Suzanne sipped her wine, raised her glass and threw her head back, leaning in the chair.

And, as if it were some weird, drunk parody of a different setting, buckets f water rained down from the ceiling… drenching Suzanne.

Juan Diego laughed a bit too loud and Morticia couldn't help but raise her eyebrow. He really was willing to do anything to get to take her home with him, even make a fool of himself.

"Oh, my lord!" Suzanne was freezing, humiliated and soaked. She spat out the water that got into her mouth.

Morticia remained stoic but was happy that the children didn't forget to get the pastel partygoers as well.

"What just happened?" Ophelia massaged her temples, trying to keep herself calm in front of all of these attendees.

"Why don't we take a guess?" Suzanne shot, bitterly. "I was practically drowned and I wasn't even swimmin'!"

"Now, Suzanne, there is no need to get upset."

While Ophelia tried to calm down Suzanne whilst not screwing up her self-given role of calm hostess, the children sat in a small room… directly above the incident. They had made a medium-sized hole in the ceiling, covered by streamers, and dumped the water through it, creating an amusing scene.

Peter eyed his older sister, confused. "Water?"

"What?" Wendy asked, defensive. "I love Flashdance."

Ophelia, ready to blow her top, could no longer wrangle the guests -and Suzanne- and instead left it up to Jeeves (whom was suddenly feeling underpaid).

He was mostly successful, and shortly after, Ophelia rang the third gong, signaling it was time for cake.

The partygoers moved to the cake section of the room, and Ophelia held a large kitchen knife.

The children, oddly, were able to attend this event, and stood next to their Aunt Morticia (much to the dismay of the seven horny men crowded around her). Wendy and Peter blended in perfectly minus the woman they stood with.

Ophelia stood next to her husband, who she still did not allow to cut the cake. She turned, but being no expert in heels, she almost killed Gomez and just missed his jugular with the knife.

She realized this and kissed his cheek. "Sorry, darling." Ophelia hated being this sweet, and she wanted to use that knife on her own jugular at this point. "Now," She smiled at the partygoers. "As Marie Antoinette -whom I greatly admire- once said, let them eat cake!"

All of the partygoers except Morticia and Wendy laughed.

Wendy tugged Morticia's dress.

Morticia looked down at her. "Yes, Wendy?"

"Marie Antionette never said that." Wendy whispered.

Morticia smiled, as Wendy sounded a bit more like… well, her daughter. She squeezed her shoulders. "You're right."

Ophelia went from the top, and slid the knife into the cake. The one thing that had gone right. No hinges, no problems, no-

The cake exploded.

Cake residue shot up and splattered all over Ophelia, and just a tiny couple of drops on Gomez, not that he minded.

A few of the party attendees began to laugh, and Gomez smiled. _This,_ was a fun birthday party. He made a mental note to thank his children later.

Ophelia was not so pleased. _"Are you kidding me?"_ She yelled.

Nobody moved a muscle. Nobody talked. Nobody breathed.

 _"_ _Who the hell did that? That was no coincidence! I refuse to believe it! I rented a spiral staircase!"_ She shouted. _"I got elephants! I had Jeeves traipse all over town to get nice decorations!"_

"Uh oh." Peter peeped.

 _"_ _I do all this, and I get cake in my face? Really?"_

Gomez put a hand on Ophelia's shoulder. "Darling, calm down. I had a good time."

Ophelia side-eyed him, angrily. "Mmm. That's cute. You had a good time? _What about me?_ " Ophelia put a hand to her chest, upset. _"What about all I did? I…"_ She began to cry, playing the victim and used a napkin to dab her dry eyes. "I need some alone time to clean up this mess. Thank you all for coming. _Everybody out!_ " She could no longer hide the anger in her voice.

Everyone at the party took the mistress of the Addams' mansions' words as law. They left.

Morticia escorted the children out, and Gomez was left in the ballroom alone, after Ophelia stormed off.

He never did get that dance. And a part of him really was wishing that he had.

That night, upset and in his nightclothes, Gomez sat at the kitchen table. He had with him, a blood flavoured cupcake that had a lit, guillotine-designed candle. He had found it in the library… but he didn't know who put it there. He had a guess, but he figured she would be asleep by now.

"Happy birthday, old man." He said to himself. "Hang in there, even if you'd much rather hang from there." He looked over towards the doorway and sighed. Then, Gomez blew out the candle and was ready to eat his cupcake, when his wife walked into the kitchen.

Ophelia, wearing her pastel pink, skimpy, lace nightgown, walked over to Gomez. "Gomez?"

Gomez looked up. _You've got this, you love her._ His mind said. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry about what happened at the party. I still don't know who did it, but if I find out, we'll sue." Ophelia put a hand on his shoulder.

"Ophelia, I had a good time." Gomez told her.

Ophelia was taken aback. "What?"

"I said," Gomez looked at her. "I had a good time. I was having a fine time up until you started screaming at everyone."

"I'm sorry." Ophelia lied. "Aren't you?"

Gomez raised an eyebrow. "What did I do?"

"You didn't pay attention to me. I tried but you were too wrapped up in that party." Ophelia explained. "And a certain someone _at_ that party…" She mumbled.

"I…" Just apologize. _Do you want this on your mind and Morticia? Do you want your brain to stop working? I am. I need air, old man!_ _ **Give me air!**_ His mind pleaded. Gomez stood up. "Yes, I'm sorry." Very good. Good Gomez.

"Now that that's over…" Ophelia began to untie his robe.

"Ophelia," Gomez really didn't want to, not tonight. Actually, not really, at all. But, especially not tonight. "Don't you think we've had enough activity for one day?" _Bad Gomez._

"Alright, fine. Take me now or take me shopping." Ophelia continued.

"Alright, fine." Gomez, suddenly bold, moved backward. "I'll take you shopping." _Bad._

Ophelia stopped, and became quite offended. "Run that by me one more time. Because if you said what I think you just said, you'll be running out the front door."

 _Don't disappoint me._ "I said, _I'll take you shopping._ " _You're a disappointment._

 _"_ _Ugh!"_ Ophelia was angry, steaming, boiling. And because of that, she slapped him.

Gomez was now thoroughly upset, and after everything she did today, he would have hit her back. But, he was not that kind of man. And nothing Ophelia said or did to him was going to make him that kind of man.

Instead, he refused to meet her eyes, and left her in the kitchen.

It had been two hours, and after a long talk with Jeeves, Ophelia decided it best to pretend she was sorry. Se had to. She did have a temper problem, especially with Gomez… but she also had a Morticia problem, and that took precedence.

So, se tip-toed up to their bedroom, and made sure that Gomez was not asleep.

Their bedroom was massive. It had white walls with golden, shiny designs on them. The floor was white and gold marble, and the California King bed was circular with white, silk and satin bedsheets. The big windows had yellow curtains, and the walk-in closet (a separate room in itself, which Ophelia took up most of) had ivory walls and the same type of floor as that of the bedroom. By the white, porcelain door with a pure gold handle, was a large, white vanity. Toward the end of the room was a mahogany dresser, as Ophelia told Gomez she would not have a single black item in that bedroom. Under their bed was a white, fluffy rug and around the bed was a pastel blue canopy.

"Gomez?" Ophelia sat at the side of the bed.

Gomez turned to her, as he was already sitting up on the mattress. "Ophelia."

"Gomez," Ophelia was feigning guilt and concern. "I'm sorry."

Gomez nodded. "Alright."

"I know what I did was stupid and wrong and I'm sorry. I've just been a little on edge lately. I'm still adjusting to Morticia being here and I just get worried about the girls and I…" Ophelia sighed. "Forgive me?"

Gomez exhaled, deeply. "Yes."

Ophelia looked his muscled form up and down. "Do you still want to take me shopping?" She batted her eyes.

"Ophelia-"

She gave him no time to answer. In one move, her tongue was in his mouth and before Gomez knew what was happening his brain kicked in to coach mode, and her nightgown was off. Then, so were his pants. His heart when on lockdown, and his body went on autopilot… as usual.

Morticia was in her long, gothic nightgown. It was cut in a deep V-neck and swept the floor. It was silk, with long and slightly drooping sleeves. Her matching slippers were on and her hair was pinned up with a strand hanging down. Her makeup was off, she had just taken a shower.

She had been reading The Shining up in the attic, as she was now halfway through the book. Now, she silently crept down the stairs and to the fifth floor. She walked past door after door after door, and suddenly felt a tad lightheaded, due to nerves and the fact that she was becoming more internally unraveled by the day. She stopped by a white, porcelain door, slightly leaning against it to get a grip.

That was when she heard it.

It was heartshattering. If Morticia thought that seeing Ophelia try to seduce her husband was bad, hearing what she assumed was her being successful at it, was even worse. It was so, so much worse. She knew Gomez had done it with other women before, many other women. Before she was even engaged to Gomez Addams, she knew what he used to be like. And she loved him still, and he loved her. After he proclaimed his love for her, he explained how he would never do that to her, ever. And he didn't. Not until he no longer remembered her.

At that realization, at that moment, her abused heart broke completely. And that moment, was when the stoic Morticia cried.

She couldn't get to her guest bedroom fast enough. She couldn't slam the door shut, collapse onto her mattress and weep fast enough. She was grateful that all of her makeup was off, because her face was buried in her pillows. She did not care how emotionless she could be, how mature she was, how… how strong she was. She was not strong enough for this. She couldn't do this. It hurt, it hurt too much. She couldn't take it anymore. How in the hell could this happen? Gomez was the one person she had in this world. And Ophelia was the one person that betrayed her in the worst way possible, by taking away the one person she had left.

"Gomez…" Morticia wept into the pillow. "God, what am I going to do? I've always been strong, but no one's this strong." Her voice was shaking for the first time since her father died. "Not even me. I miss you. I miss you so much, mon cher." She had to calm herself down. She stopped talking and now let silent tears fall with the occasional whimper. But the dam had broken… and now he had to let the flood run its course.

About a half an hour had passed. And then, her door opened.

"Aunt Morticia?" A tired voice, belonging to Peter asked.

Not needing nor wanting to bombard the young boy with her problems, Morticia quickly dried her tears and sat up in bed. "Peter?" She got her voice under control.

"Aunt Morticia, I heard you crying." He wore blue pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Morticia couldn't smile, but she had to make an attempt. "Yes, darling, I'm fine." She replied. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"No." He said. "I know it's midnight but I can't sleep."

"Well, would you like to come sit with me?" Morticia asked, kindly.

Peter nodded and sat, Indian-style at the foot of the bed. "Thanks." He said.

"It's alright, Peter. I'd like some company." Morticia replied. "I can't sleep either."

"How are you doing in English? I never got a chance to ask."

Peter played with his hands, seeming a bit nervous. "Well, that's also kind of what I came in to talk to you about."

"What do you mean?" Morticia questioned.

"Don't tell mother, okay?"

"Of course not." Morticia promised.

"I'm really bad at it. And Wendy's tutoring isn't helping. My test is in five days and I'm still no good." Peter confessed to her.

Morticia straightened up a bit. "I could tutor you." She offered.

Peter seemed excited. "Really?"

"Of course." Morticia's eyes smiled. "Of course, dear."

"When can ya start?" Peter asked, eagerly.

"Well," Morticia thought for a moment. "Seeing as we both can't sleep, how about we start tonight, hmm?"

Peter nodded. "Okay, let's get started!"

Morticia grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the drawer on the nightstand next to her bed. "Now, what is your test on? Vocabulary?"

And as Morticia worked the night away with her nephew, drying her internal tears as she did, a certain butler walked by.

Listening at the door, Jeeves noted the words exchanged. But what could he do? Tell Ophelia? What could she do? What could she really do about the bond now formed between Morticia and her children?

The butler figured he would tell his mistress, anyway, if she could do something. But what to say? _Mrs. Addams, what are you going to do? Your husband can't keep his eyes off of her and the children adore her? Mrs. Addams, what do you plan to do?_

Maybe. Honesty was always the best policy?

Jeeves thought to himself as he walked down the hall, unaware that by the time he would reach his room, Peter would be fast asleep in his aunt's bed.


	16. A is for Arsenic

Morticia had admired her sleeping nephew from her section of the bed for a few moments before giving into sleep herself that night. She needed something good to come out of that horrendous day.

Peter, he had traits like Pugsley, because he technically _was_ Pugsley, only Pugsley had he not been brought up the way Gomez and Morticia had strived for. And, well, Peter was not. But he was a wonderful child, and he still had that caring nature about him that Morticia had always encouraged. Homicidal, absolutely (although not as much as Wednesday was), but caring, oh, yes.

The fact that he stopped by his aunt's bedroom because he heard her crying showed how much he already loved her, and it was a much-needed distraction from her aching heart.

She couldn't get it out of her head, nor could she get Gomez out of her head. And, at this point, she had only seven days. It was October 6th. This meant that Morticia had but one week to get Gomez to wake up. And it was like trying to wake an old, sleeping sloth. She wished Gomez would just… how she loved him. She missed him, deeply but the place that Ophelia had put him in was nay impossible to get out of.

It was -and how she hated to use this word- unfair, to say the least. Morticia and Gomez fought hard to be able to make their love for each other known. They risked everything, Morticia was almost murdered, for Christ's sake! And for almost twenty years, they were able to say that they were blissfully unhappy. They were married, and able to ravish each other in front of whoever was around. They were proud beyond belief for their love, and what they could accomplish together.

When Gomez would take her in his arms and devour her neck (whether it be in public or in private), he was making a wordless proclamation, _This beautiful creature of the night in my arms, is mine!_ When Morticia would dig into his chest with her stiletto nails and draw blood, it went the same, _Gomez Addams is mine, and mine alone._ But, it had been so long, much too long, since they could do that to one another.

Morticia couldn't help but think about that night when she walked by… perhaps some part of her was slightly angry. Most of her, however, did know that it wasn't Gomez's fault. She knew that if Gomez remembered, none of this would have happened. She knew (in her mind), that if there was anyone to blame, it was herself. But, it did not undo the hurt that broke her heart when she regrettably walked by their bedroom door.

Something had changed, though, and Morticia knew what it was. Gomez was coming more undone by the day. And more bipolar.

One minute, he was doing anything he could to be in Morticia's general vicinity and using any excuse to touch her. _My, that's a beautiful ring,_ he would say and take her hand, pretending to be interested in the ring.

The next minute, he would claim he had a headache and decided to lie down for a while. But, an hour or two later, he would be back with her, and variations of the same process would repeat itself.

Morticia was always delighted to receive the attention, however. She would, at this point, take whatever she could get. However, she was still Morticia, and she knew that if she had any chance in hell at Gomez picking up where they left off, she would still need to be herself, what made him fall in love with her every day since he laid eyes on her.

Her flirtatious ways were captivating, with sly innuendos within her ever-so proper speech, glances and flashing that smile. That rare, illusive smile that made Gomez forget everything and hope to god that his zipper was up.

And when Gomez would laugh or look at her… Morticia's knees would weaken, and lately she had been having to learn to catch herself. And it was at times like that… it was at times like that when those tormenting questions would invade her already cluttered mind. _Was Gomez now Ophelia's? No, of course not. Right?_ _ **Right?**_ _If not, then why do I feel like an emotional mistress in my own old home? The answer: I have no idea._

Day in, day out, Gomez and Morticia were like bungee cords. Well, Gomez was. Morticia was sitting, waiting, flirting. Gomez was a bungee cord. He was flirting and engaging and almost like his old self before he proclaimed his love for her. The next, he was tongue tied and nervous and sick, and leaving.

The forced-apart pair remembered at least two of these sorts of events.

Morticia sighed in a melancholy reminiscence.

 _Morticia was drinking tea at the kitchen table, deciding that the kitchen was somewhat of a more bearable setting to do so in than the dining room._

 _She was in a slightly better mood that weekend, as Gomez and life before, and the way he would touch her, had crept its way into her dreams the previous night. And if she couldn't feel Gomez's adoring hands all over her in reality, at least she could in her own, lucid dream of a dark paradise._

 _Gomez had just woken up, as Ophelia had been out of the house shopping since the crack of dawn, and he approached the gothic beauty, whom was wearing a tight, long, silk, low cut black nightgown. Its sleeves were elbow-length with black, spiderweb-designed lace coming off of them. She was enchanting._

 _Against his conscience's protests, he tapped her slender shoulder._

 _Tired, but nonetheless mesmerizing, Morticia followed the hand up and found the conflicted gaze of Mr. Addams. "Good morning, Gomez." Morticia greeted him._

 _"_ _Good morning, Morticia." Gomez kissed her hand._ _ **Must you kiss her in the morning? Really? You call her family but family doesn't fantasize about the other at night! Family doesn't jack off to the only picture of them they have left! Get a grip on yourself, old man, please.**_

 _"_ _How was your night?" Morticia inquired._

 ** _Come on. Be strong._** _"_ _Well, it was…" Gomez thought of how to reply, tastefully. If he had told her the truth, it would not go over well between his brain, him or his wife (who -if she were to ever find out, he could kiss his sorry ass goodbye). "It was quite the night."_ _ **Quite the night? There's no hope for you.**_

 _Morticia looked him up and down, seduction in her black eyes. "Mmm. Really?" She nodded._

 _"_ _Not like that." Gomez added, quickly. "Not with Ophelia." He accidentally blurted out. "No, not… I mean, it wasn't, obviously, I'm not…" He bit his lip._ _ **You. Are. An idiot. Quick, get out of this. I don't know how! Do I look like a conscience- oh. Alright, just… why are you so complicated?**_ _"I wasn't… it's… I have… insomnia?" Not only did that sound like a question, it was terribly hesitated._ _ **Really?**_ _ **Why don't you just have, I HAD A SEX DREAM ABOUT YOU, tattooed on your forehead?**_

 _Morticia nodded. "I understand. I haven't gotten much sleep lately either." Morticia's eyes traveled to his bulge, briefly. There she went with the innuendos again._

 _A smile inadvertently spread across Gomez's features, and he suavely pulled a cigar out of his pocket to smoke._ _ **Would you get your head out of the sand?**_ _His conscience snapped._ _ **She left, remember? Perhaps -and I'm just wildly speculating- she quite literally couldn't sleep?**_

 _Gomez sighed, ignoring his brain, momentarily. "I'm terribly sorry about that." Gomez sat down at the table next to Morticia. "Have any dreams?"_

 _Morticia smirked. "Well, I'm hoping that they aren't… just, dreams."_

 _Gomez felt his pants tighten._ _ **Oh, not the smirk. Those lips… goddamit, she's killing you.**_ _"Well, if they were that good, let's hope that at some point, they can come true."_

 _Morticia's intimidating yet sinful, seductive gaze continuously clawed at Gomez's being, begging for… something. "Yes." She replied. "Let's hope."_

 ** _Run. Old man, listen to me! Retreat! She's so- beautiful. That woman looks as though Dracula and a siren gave birth to the most alluring witch on the face of the- stop! Run. You. Are going. To die._**

 _Gomez figured his conscience was right. Funny, he never had his brain scream at him like this until after he married Ophelia. But, he wanted her, no… no, he wanted his wife. Didn't he? Perhaps he didn't. No, no, he did. He definitely did. Even if he didn't, he had better start. He had to._

 _"_ _Would you like some tea?" Morticia offered._

 _Gomez, lost, came up with a quick, thoughtless response. "Yes, so am I." He got up. "Excuse me." He left._

Having finished this memory, Gomez was on to another. His fingers ran through his own jet-black hair as he showered that night. Eyes closed, water running down his muscular body, all he could now remember -despite half-trying to forget- was what happened about three days ago.

 _Gomez had come back from a meeting with Tully, and had decided to think in the master bedroom for a while. But, of course, he became… sidetracked._

 _Whilst walking down the hall with an upsetting lack of a haunting air, Gomez's senses were awakened for a moment. From the dull drab of life to some beautiful sent of elegance, Hypnotic Poison number thirteen and black roses._

 ** _Alright, now that is just cruel._** _His brain was back at it again._ _ **Is she trying to kill you? What are you doing? Oh, not this crap again. Resist, you bloody imbecile! Resist! If you so much as run your hand over that bathroom door-**_

 _Gomez couldn't help himself. Enraptured, he walked closer to the bathroom door, unsure of what he would actually do when he did reach it._

 ** _Don't do it._**

 _Gomez approached the door, hypnotized, and slowly ran his hand over the fresh, cream-coloured wood of the bathroom door._

 ** _You bastard._**

 _Entranced was he, and he stayed there, hand on the door, feeling a slight amount of heat coming off from the opposite end. Smoke was probably all over the presumably foggy mirrors of the large, pristine bathroom. Smoke… Gomez let his thoughts briefly run wild with pictures of Morticia in the shower. Hot water cascading off of her beautiful, lithe, porcelain body. The smoke on the mirrors in the imaginary scene -even if for just a moment- parting, so that Gomez could see her through the mirrors._

 ** _Oh, God, you're right._** _His head was overcome with these images._ _ **Just think…**_

 _Gomez did, he thought, long and hard -which is what he was getting- until his bastard of a brain came to its senses._

 ** _Stop that!_** _His conscience yelled._ _ **You have never thought of your own wife that way, you cad, what gives you the right to think of another woman? I don't care what kind of spell she has you under, wake up, damn it! Wake up!**_

"Wake up!" Ophelia shook her husband awake. "Wake up, you are not staying in bed until noon again!"

Gomez, without protest, dressed and awakened, as he was told. However, he could not help but finish the memory, needing to give his conscience and himself a break.

 _Gomez could not wake up. He did not want to, not at all. This trance he was in was beautifully, mystifyingly spellbinding and he wanted it to be cast on him. He wanted to be stuck in time like this; hand running over the door, thinking of that goddess in the room before it, thinking of what it would be like to-_

 _"_ _Gomez?" A slightly startled Morticia was clothed in one of her beautiful, tight, deep-cut black nightgowns. Her hair was pinned up minus a strand._

 _Gomez's eyes jolted open. "Morticia." He greeted her, as if it would be completely normal to find him, standing outside the shower with his eyes closed._

 _"_ _Is everything alright?" Morticia asked, confused as to why he was standing there but wishing to God, he would take her. And knowing he most likely wouldn't. It killed her. When she used to exit the shower, Gomez would always be there… unable to hide his desire for her. Hell, sometimes he would get in there with her._

 _"_ _Yes, I'm sorry." Gomez replied._

 _"_ _It's alright. I was just a bit startled, it's early." Morticia responded. "I thought you'd be with your wife."_

 _"_ _No."_ _ **No? No? You're… she's… oh, she's breathtaking. And braintaking, run for the hills!**_ _"No, I just got back from a meeting with Tully."_

 _"_ _Ah, yes. How is he?" Well, shit. She was supposed to pretend to be only vaguely aware of the man's existence, and here she was, asking about him?_

 _Gomez raised an eyebrow. "He's… quite alright."_

 _"_ _Yes, well, I really should be getting back to my mattress- guest room." Morticia caught herself, but then asked, "Might I ask why you were standing outside the bathroom door while I was in the shower?"_

 _"_ _Yes," said Gomez._ _ **Choose your words wisely, old man.**_ _"I was thinking." I said choose wisely._

 _"_ _Thinking?" Morticia elegantly crossed her arms._

 _"_ _Yes." Gomez wished he could just… God, he spent twelve hours every day trying to live his life and the other twelve wishing that it was different. "Thinking, about… the shower." Gomez paused. "I didn't know you were in there."_

 _"_ _Oh?"_

 _"_ _Not that I would have left. Not unless you wanted me to. I…" Oh, dear. "I mean, I'm terribly sorry for making this complicated, Morticia. I didn't know, and you didn't know I was here. It won't happen again."_

 _"_ _Mmm… what a shame." Morticia said._

 _Gomez smirked but… he couldn't. He wanted to, but he couldn't. "Yes. I could come." Gomez's eyes widened at his use of words. "Back. I could come back later. Goodnight, Morticia." Gomez kissed her hand and walked away, his suave demeanor perishing due to his position. And it tore him apart._

 _The worst part was that it was around ten o'clock._

Morticia sighed and continued reading.

She spent many a night reading either in the second floor living room, or in the attic. And this night, was nothing different. She read in her bedroom, canopy pulled over the bed… just the same as the night before, and the night before that. She could pretend the monsters in The Shining were there with her, then, if she could not curl up in her bed of dead roses… and tonight, as so many before, she could do no such thing.

 _His breath stopped in a gasp. An almost drowsy terror stole through his veins. Yes. Yes. There was something in here with him. Some awful thing the Overlook had saved for just such a chance as this. Maybe a huge spider that had burrowed down under the dead leaves, or a rat… or maybe the corpse of some little kid that had died here on the playground._ _Had that ever happened? At the far end of the concrete ring, Danny heard the stealthy crackle of dead leaves, as something came for him on its hands and knees…_

Morticia was ripped from the world of blood, terror and ghouls as there came a knock at her door, accompanied by a voice.

"Morticia?"

It was Gomez.

"Gomez?" Morticia set her book down on her nightstand and pulled back the canopy.

"Yes, may I come in?"

Morticia sat up a bit. "Of course, it's open."

Gomez nodded, and, in his nightclothes, as was she, he walked into her guestroom. Then, he shut the door behind him. He appeared flustered, conflicted… even more-so than usual.

There was a small period of silence, but then, Gomez spoke.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked.

Morticia raised an eyebrow, confused. "Doing what?"

Gomez felt his heartrate quicken with the slight arch that she did with her eyebrow, everything she did… he had to stick to his guns. He had to talk to her. "That."

"What?" Morticia asked.

Gomez put a hand to his head. _"Flirting with me!"_

Morticia stood. She walked a bit closer to him, offended. "You're doing the same thing!"

Gomez pointed an accusing finger. " _You_ left!"

Morticia shot back, _"I- what?"_ She only knew as much as Wendy had told her, and that was truly about it. And to hear Gomez accuse her of leaving? She did not care what she did in this reality. Everyone should stop blaming her for leaving, she came back, goddamit! She came back and had to fight her way through even that!

 _"_ _You left."_ Gomez stated, pointblank with a sword-tipped edge.

Morticia shook her head, refusing to believe that she would just up and leave with no real, physical force. And even then, she would rather die than leave him. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know!" Gomez couldn't understand any of this, and for the first time in twenty years, he was not so much angry, as he was hurt… as he was passionate. "But I do know that I have spent half of these last twenty years trying to get you out of my head, and the other half trying desperately to keep you in it."

Morticia swallowed, hard. "I don't know what you'd like me to say." She could not take this. This… coldness. It was unreal. This was all unreal.

"I…" Gomez shook his head, fighting the deep urges stirring from within. "I don't know."

Morticia fought the urge to cry. "No… you don't."

It all went quiet. They didn't talk. They didn't move. They didn't breathe. And, after a few moments of this tension-filled silence… Gomez walked out of the bedroom.

But that… was three days ago. Now, it was the night of October 9th, four days before Morticia's deadline. And she had barely spoken to the man she adored and who she knew adored her, since Monday. Three whole days. And it was practically axe-murdering the both of them.

This was a first for Morticia. She and Gomez rarely ever fought, and when they did, Morticia would walk away and within the hour, Gomez would find her and make things right in the way that only he could. He would take her in his arms and shower her in kisses and lovebites. He had the power to love her out of every mood.

But never, never had they not spoken to each other for a whole day; let alone, three! It was torture, and not the kind that left one of them thrashing in the sheets. It was the kind that left both of them at the brink of pure insanity. Pure, raw, sick, sad insanity.

She had to pull these thoughts from her head. Right now, Peter needed tutoring.

They sat up, late that evening, at the dining room table. Morticia's makeup was on and her hair was down, but, she had no desire to get out of her nightgown that day. It was hard enough as it was, not talking to Gomez. She was having trouble lately putting on a corset without waves of memories hitting her like a semi-truck.

"Peter, you're doing much better." Morticia told him.

"Thanks." Peter smiled.

"You seem to flourish with me. Actually, you seem to do quite well when you aren't in English class." Morticia remarked.

"Yea." Peter agreed. "Believe me, Aunt Morticia, that isn't lost on me." His statement was bitter.

"Something's troubling you." Morticia said. "What's the matter?"

"Well, I learn what you teach me in English, and it goes really well up until we take a test." Peter said, then added, "And we have either a test or a quiz every week."

Morticia raised her eyebrow. "Why?"

Peter absently played with his hands in his lap, briefly staring down at his purple pajama bottoms. "There's this kid, in our class… his name's Kaleb Smith."

Morticia could barely hide her disgust at the boys unfortunate last name.

"I know." Peter nodded, in agreement with his aunt. "And he's just a big bully."

"I don't see the problem." So far, he seemed like an alright kid.

"Okay, lemme say it different." Peter thought of how to rephrase. "He's a big jerk."

Again, everything checked out.

"He's really mean to me and makes me do bad in English."

Morticia nodded. "I don't like this kid."

Peter nodded. "Yea, me neither."

"But, how do Kaleb's actions cause you to preform poorly in English?" Morticia asked, still confused.

"Well, there's this thing he does. It's really annoying and embarrassing and it screws me up."

"What is it?" Morticia inquired.

Peter looked at her. "He'll sing the alphabet before every test." He said. "But, like, real mockingly."

Morticia nodded, in understanding. "How so?"

Whilst explaining it to her, Peter remembered the most recent example:

 _Peter sat in English class, ready to sit down and take the test on vocabulary. He knew it, he knew it… he knew it._

 _1._ _What is a simile?_

 _a._ _a comparison using "like" or "as"_

 _b._ _a comparison using words like "is" or "was"_

 _c._ _none of these are correct_

 _Peter was sure it was letter 'a'. He circled it._

 _"_ _Hey, Addams." Kaleb whispered, and biffed him from behind._

 _Peter turned, upset. "What do you want, Kaleb?"_

 _"_ _I'm gonna help you with your test." Kaleb said, in a slightly high-pitched, annoying tone of voice._

 _"_ _I don't want your help." Peter knew what he was doing, and he wasn't falling for what had to be the twentieth time Kaleb Smith tried this._

 _"_ _Well, you're gonna get it, retard." Kaleb snapped, then sang, "A. A-a-apple. B. B-b-ball. C. C-c-cat and D. D-d-doll. A-a-apple…" He sang in a hushed, mocking voice and wouldn't shut up._

 _Peter could do nothing to stop it. Ophelia would have his head if she found out that her son got in trouble for yelling, Shut up! at Gail Gallagher's son in the middle of class._

 _He failed that test._

Peter was through with his explanation.

"Peter, I can help you." Morticia gave Peter's response not a moment's more thought.

"You can?" Peter seemed surprised. "He's a kid a little bit older than me, around my size. He's on the baseball team."

"I don't care if he's six foot two and in the army." Morticia retorted.

"He isn't."

Morticia patted his shoulder. This kid really did need tutoring. "I know, dear." She responded. "You know that isn't the real alphabet, right?"

Peter was confused in expression. "No." He shook his head.

"The real alphabet is a wonderful comeback for when Kaleb starts to sing." Morticia said.

"Well, great!" Peter smiled. "What is it?"

Morticia cleared her throat. " _A_ is for _Arsenic_ , _B_ is for _Belladonna_ , _C_ is for _cyanide_ , _D_ is for _dynamite_ , which is what I like to use for revenge on children who bully me."

Peter was a bit weirded out, but not enough to say _no_. He knew this comeback would scare the begeeberz out of Kaleb! And he couldn't get in trouble for it. He could say that was how he learned the alphabet. He sipped the tea that his Aunt Morticia had made him a while ago, and spoke. "I like it."

Morticia sipped her tea as well. "My father taught it to me."

Peter raised his eyebrow. "Aunt Ophelia had a father?"

Morticia stifled a laugh. "Well, yes, dear. Everyone has a father."

Peter shook his head. "Not Kaleb."

Morticia rephrased. "Just because somebody's father isn't there, doesn't mean that they don't have one." She explained. "Your grandfather, Charles S. Frump, died when I was sixteen."

Peter was mournful of face. "I'm sorry."

Morticia patted Peter's shoulder. "It's alright, dear. He was a wonderful man. He was the best father I could have ever asked for…" She loved talking about him. "He was just like me."

Peter smiled. "Well, then, he must have been a good person."

Morticia loved that child. As her son and as her nephew, he was a wonderful boy. "Thank you, Peter. Now, you have school in the morning. Get some sleep."

Peter hugged her, then. "Goodnight, Aunt Morticia."

Morticia patted his back. "Goodnight, Pugsley."

"What?" Peter raised a questioning eyebrow, presuming he had misheard his aunt.

Morticia realized now what she had said. "What?"

Figuring he did, in fact, mishear, he shook his head. "Nothing. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Morticia sat at the kitchen table for another hour that night, and then drifted to sleep on her mattress as she read…

 _I think all mothers shine a little, you know, at least until their kids grow up enough to watch out for themselves._

Peter sat in English class that October 10th, ready to face Kaleb and ace the pop quiz which Mrs. Scarlet had informed them they would be taking. He held out the hope that the class would go by fast, as Wendy had her dance recital tonight. And as much as they admittedly got on each other's nerves sometimes, he loved her and wanted to be there.

The quiz papers had been passed out, and, as expected, Kaleb biffed Peter in the noggin.

Peter, ready to retort, turned his head. "What do you want, Kaleb?"

Kaleb smirked. "Hey, retard, I got a song for ya."

"Stop it." Peter said.

"A-a-apple, B-b- "

"Back up." Peter held up a hand.

"Ball." Kaleb peeped.

"Hey, Kaleb, I got a song for ya."

Kaleb squared his shoulders, feigning fearlessness. _"You don't have the guts."_ He spat.

" _A_ is for _Arsenic_ , _B_ is for _Belladonna_ , _C_ is for _cyanide_ , _D_ is for _dynamite_ , which is what I like to use for revenge on children who bully me." Peter left a stunned Kaleb sitting there, slack-jawed and turned around in his seat, ready to resume his test.

Kaleb was about to tap Peter's shoulder, but was stopped dead in his tracks.

The black frame glasses-wearing, tall, tan, lithe Mrs. Scarlet looked up from her desk. "Kaleb, knock it off or its detention."

"Yes, Mrs. Scarlet." Kaleb hung his head in shame.

Peter had to smirk. He now remembered why he liked Mrs. Scarlet so much.

It was now 4:30 pm, and Wendy was with Ophelia, and the other daughters and mothers, in the dressing room.

Wendy sat at the black vanity and applied her golden show lipstick for the group number, Darkness and Light.

Ophelia pulled her away from the mirror. "You're doing it wrong."

Wendy looked around. "Mother, please, I'm doing it like I always do it."

"Give me the lipstick."

"Mother, -"

 _"_ _Now."_ Ophelia impatiently held

Wendy was shocked. Usually, she was only this impatient when she was angry or drinking. _"Fine."_ Wendy then handed her mother the tube of lipstick, and Ophelia began to paint her daughter's face.

"Girls!" Miss Hollie, the girls dance teacher, clapped her hands to call attention. The twenty-six-year-old wore a concerned expression on her face. She was five foot six, with long legs, fair skin and curled blonde hair. Her sea green eyes were indicating trouble. She wore a short, black and white dress with slightly puffed sleeves and a low square neck. Her high heels were black, and her nails were painted white.

The fifteen girls on the dance team -ranging from ten to twelve in age- all looked up at Miss Hollie.

"Girls, we have a problem." Hollie held up her hands before the mothers could open their big mouths in protest. "You know the expression, _the show must go on_?"

The girls all nodded, worried.

"Well," their teacher continued. "Throw that out the window. Something's gone wrong." Hollie pushed a stray strand of hair from her face and pursed her apple red lips. "Little Lizzie broke her leg."

There were gasps from parents and their children alike.

"Is she going to be alright?" Rosie asked. The girl was tall for eleven, with high cheekbones, fair skin and a ballet-dancer's body. She fixed her thick, dark red hair.

Miss Hollie nodded. "Yes, honey, she'll be okay. But, for us…" She thought of how to phrase the sentence. "Since Lizzie broke her leg, our main dancer is gone. We can't perform Light and Darkness with no darkness."

Wendy then got a brilliant gleam in her eyes and her hand shot up in the air before Ophelia could do anything to stop her. "I can do it!"

Everyone stared at her.

"Do you remember the dance?" Miss Hollie asked.

Wendy nodded. "Yes, I know the whole thing!"

"Wendy-" Ophelia was cut off.

"You have a half hour to practice and change; can you do it?" Hollie asked the young girl.

Wendy nodded.

"Alright, girl, hop to it!"

The mothers were instructed to leave, and all of the girls cheered for Wendy, their dark lightsaver.

Not one performance at the recital went awry. Every performer had known exactly what they were doing, how they were doing it, and what they wanted.

If only it had been so easy for Gomez Addams.

One would not think seating arrangements would be something to have an internal struggle about, but they were.

Gomez sat on the very end, next to him was Ophelia. Next to Ophelia, was the sister Gomez could not keep his eyes off of.

During Swan Lake:

 _God, she's beautiful. Damn you, she left, move on! How dare you say that, who could ever move on, that black enchantress is- shut. Up. You! Keep watching, old man… you have nothing to worry about- take cover! Shield yourself, her gaze is too much!_

During Ave Maria:

 _It is official. Nothing, nothing is or sounds as lovely as she does- stop that. Stop that now. I am on my last nerve with you, do not look there! We are at a recital, how dare you- oh. My. God. I mean, they're just so… I just want to- nothing. Keep watching. Keep watching._

During Jailhouse Rock:

 _I've been a very bad boy, Ms. Frump. I'd gladly let her punish me. She's so- alright, that's it. As your conscience, I need to urge caution! Caution! This. Recital. Has nothing. To do. With that- charming, seductive, enchanting- stop it. Your daughter's going to dance. Look that way._

This continued all night.

Wendy danced beautifully. She had dawned a black, slightly gothic ballet costume with makeup to match. Her ballet flats were black, and for the first time, her fantasy became real. She danced beautifully, and nobody even looked at Rosie or the others in their shiny, white and gold, light costumes and their white ballet flats.

She leapt and twirled and did it all over again in less than a half an hour with her solo, entitled Lilith. She wore a flowing, white gown-leotard and white flats. Her hair was down, and her makeup was minimal. Again, she succeeded… but she could not shake the feeling that her mother was still unhappy with her, as she would ever be.

Gomez fought the urge to apologize to the woman he adored -despite when his conscience claimed otherwise- on the drive home, and after.

But, now, it was late. 7:45 pm, and the family had dispersed when they arrived home, a half an hour ago. Morticia had gone upstairs to read (as usual), the children had gone to bed, and Gomez and Ophelia were still awake.

No, not chatting, or sipping tea or reminiscing… no, simply arguing.

"I can not believe you forgot about this!" Ophelia yelled at her husband.

"Forgot. About. What?" Gomez was now upset, as he had been getting yelled at for the past half an hour and had not been able to get a word in edgewise.

"The hotel!" Ophelia answered hi, angrily.

"What hotel?" Gomez was thoroughly confused.

 _"_ _Royal Gardens."_ Ophelia rolled her eyes. "Gomez, I booked this hotel two weeks ago!"

"Well, you didn't tell me any of this! You probably told Linda and the girls, as usual." Gomez was not having any of this tonight.

"Some thanks I get, after everything I did for your birthday party!" Ophelia pointed at him.

"Oh, please!" Gomez scoffed. Tonight, something was off. Because tonight, he was not bowing down… he was standing up right in front of the bitch. "Most of the parties which -and pardon me for saying so- are about me, are planned and executed by you and the girls, anyway!"

"Ha!" Ophelia's laugh was more sinister, and less sweet. "I have to; if you had it your way, every fucking thing would be black!"

 _Watch it._ _"_ _Yes, and would that be so bad?"_ Gomez yelled. What happened to _watch it_?

"Yes, goddamit, it would! It's weird! It isn't normal, it isn't something I want our kids around!"

 _"_ _What don't you want them around, Ophelia? Love, their father being happy?"_ Gomez's accent grew thicker. _"Would it be so bad if one of our children decided to take a detour to the local cemetery?"_

"Yes!" Ophelia's cheeks were red. "It would! I worked hard to get us where we're at right now!"

"No, you worked hard for yourself!" Gomez shot back. He gestured about the house. _"What is all this? I,"_ He pointed to himself. "Never wanted this, Ophelia! I never wanted pastels, and white, and-" He held his tongue. He wanted so badly to be honest and say, I never wanted you. But, he held his tongue. "I never wanted a garden in the backyard! Do you know who did? You did!"

Ophelia stepped up to her husband. "Oh, I know that you did not just say what I think you said."

"Well, then, I suggest you recheck your facts, Ophelia. Because I happen to understand that I did." Beads of sweat formed on Gomez's forehead.

"That is it!" Ophelia yelled. "I'm going to Royal Gardens, and when you're ready to _give a damn_ about someone besides _yourself, feel free to join me._ "

With those words, Ophelia stormed out. She expected the usual as she pulled out of the driveway in her Tesla. Gomez, apologizing as usual. When she screamed at him that way, he would eventually get fed up and come crawling back, tail between his legs, even if she had to do a little pushing.

But, as Ophelia took the forty-minute drive downtown to Royal Gardens, she also took the forty-minute drive downtown from her Morticia problem. Mrs. Addams did indeed let her temper run away with her tonight, and perhaps her husband along with it.

As, little did Ophelia know, she would not see the Gomez she saw then for the rest of the night. Or the Gomez she married, for the rest of her life.

 _Well… that was unexpected._ Gomez's conscience was, for once, not screaming at him. _Maybe you need some relaxation. Perhaps you could- oh, no. No, walk away from the living room, right this minute- and we're going in._

Gomez was not crawling back this time, eager to make things right with his wife. He was crawling back this time, eager to make things right with her sister.

Morticia solemnly read her book in the second floor living room. She was running out of hope, at a startlingly fast rate. Could she instigate the contact? She wanted to. She wanted to, so badly. She wanted to jump into his arms and feel his fingers in her hair and hear his name on her lips, and vis versa. She craved Gomez Addams, the only man who would never leave her… even though, she feared, he just did. Her eyes, glossy although she had not yet cried tonight, took in the words from The Shining.

 _"_ _Any big hotels have got scandals," he said. "Just like every big hotel has got a ghost. Why? Hell, people come and go. Sometimes one of em will pop off in his room, heart attack or stroke or something like that. Hotels are superstitious places. No thirteenth floor or room thirteen, no mirrors on the back of the door you come in through, stuff like that."_

She heard a voice coming from directly in front of her. "Morticia?"

Morticia looked up from her book, surprised and relieved to see the man she missed more than anything, standing before her. "Gomez?"

Gomez smiled at her, and extended his hand.

His words set her heart aflame.

"How would you like to go to dinner with me?"


	17. Deadly Nightshade

She had been running out of time. She had been losing hope. She had been craving the heat of his body against her own, even just the simple touch of a hand. She needed something, anything, to restart her wounded heart.

And then, he asked her to dinner.

Morticia accepted, gracefully after Gomez apologized about the events which took place three days prior. She accepted, she took his hand, and… she wanted to, how she wanted to just forget everything and let his tongue tango with her own, like they used to. But, she could not instigate this contact, no matter how many beats her heart did skip, when Gomez Addams' warm hand took that of her own, cold as a corpse.

Morticia dressed, carefully, though not without anticipation. She dawned a long, long-sleeved, black, gothic gown which swept the floor. It was tight at the waist, but flowed out a bit after, for leg room. Morticia could not help but, as she dressed, imagine his hands and lips, sensually exploring her body as they so effortlessly used to. She oft pretended, when alone, that her hands were his. She would wrap her arms around herself while she slipped into her clothes… and out of them.

When she looked in the mirror at the deep V-neck cut of the gown, she could not help but remember the way Gomez's eyes would hungrily eye her glorious form, and those handsome brown eyes would wander to her cleavage. He would smirk at her and when she moved closer to him, he could not callously put out his hundred-dollar cigar fast enough.

And he loved to help her tie her corsets, not that she needed them. She just loved them, the design, the tightness… there was much beauty in them, at least, there was in the ones with a certain darkness to them. Morticia envisioned her amour in the back of her as she tied the black laces of the corset, kissing her shoulder or her neck, and usually, they both forgot about the task at hand until one of them looked down at a half-tied corset. The one she wore today was of a deep, dark indigo, almost black shade. Covering it, were gothic and Victorian designs (of skulls, and spirals, etc.). There was the slightest amount of black lace lining the corset on the bottom.

As the former Mrs. Addams stepped into her black, three-and-a-half-inch high heels, all she could think about was when Gomez would get on his knees before her, and let his lips travel from her heels to her leg until she was pinned against the wall, breathless and tortured, but the kind that made her weak from pain and pleasure.

Her red wine lips were easy to trigger a memory. The memory of his lips against her own every single day. Even on their old clock, Gomez and Morticia were at the center, and even the small clockwork figures were insane for one another. She missed his taste. He tasted like fine cigars mixed with red wine, slight intimidation, darkness and sometimes, her blood. But it was more than that, and only Morticia knew what it was. She could taste the love for her that filled his being when she kissed him, and the safety she felt in his strong arms… she didn't know how feelings could manifest into taste, but they could. And they did.

When Morticia put the gothic rings (five between both hands) on her delicate fingers, all she could concentrate on were her deep, blood red nails. She reminisced about how he would take her in his arms from behind, and her hand would snake back, letting her nails run across his cheek while he buried his head in her neck, finding that spot that made her weak every time his lips or tongue ran over it, or his teeth bit down on it.

Her smoky eyes, even they could trigger memories. Gomez loved her, and found her irresistible regardless of whether she wore a full face of makeup or none at all. But, her eye makeup only added to her natural mysterious beauty. That, and her lips, and Gomez, when he looked at her, his gaze was loving, adoring and intense. The flames rose high, scorching the Death Valley that was her dark golden heart, leaving it skipping several beats, and tricking its willing self into beating exactly in time with Gomez's own heart. It was magical, what he could do to her… even after all this time.

Lastly, in the view of her guest bedroom mirror, Morticia put in her dangling, black diamond earrings. Her black, velvet, hooded cape/cloak lie neatly on her bed, ready to be dawned shortly.

She was ready.

"You look beautiful." A smiling Charles leaned against the door of his daughter's bedroom.

Morticia nodded a _thank you._ "Merci, father."

Charles chuckled, and shook his head. He could not stop staring at his daughter, or the strong, gorgeous woman she had become… that she always was.

"Is something wrong?" Morticia arched an eyebrow, confused as to why her father was just standing, staring at her.

"No." Charles replied. "Honestly, I just keep having these memories of you when you were a little girl, especially lately."

Morticia smiled. "Father."

"It's true. I look at you and I still see my little bundle of darkness. I can't help but remember you when you were my little baby. You were more than I ever could have hoped for in a daughter, and you loved me, like nobody else ever did… ever could." Charles said. "You loved to read. Horrour novels, Edgar Allan Poe, dissection guides and my school books."

"School books?" Morticia questioned.

"You know the ones." Charles began to jog her memory. "A Mortician's Guide to All Things Life and Death, How to Fix a Broken Body, Toe Tags and What to Do to Cover Up a Mix-Up?"

Morticia nodded, in remembrance. "Ah, yes."

Charles seemed happy that his daughter remembered what he was talking about. "You loved ravens, and vultures." He told her. "And you wanted to be a witch from the moment you knew what they were. Ever since five, you practiced the craft. Your mother and I could not have been prouder.

"You loved to behead any and every doll you received. And I could not help but laugh when you gave Kitty that stuffed rag doll toy that looked like… a certain someone, the year before I died." Charles laughed. "It feels so odd to say that."

Morticia turned to her father. "I still hate hearing it." She spoke honestly. "I miss you."

Charles hugged her, then. "I know." He said. "I miss you to, my daughter."

There then came a knock at the door of Morticia's guestroom.

"Who is it?" Charles asked.

Morticia rolled her eyes. "Father, he can't hear you."

Charles nodded. "Oh, yes."

"Gomez?" Morticia figured that is who it was. Who else could it be?

"Yes." Gomez replied. "It's me. We're in no rush, I just wanted to let you know that I'll be waiting outside your door." _Ah, yes, that doesn't sound odd at all._ He was now using sarcasm on… well, himself.

Morticia smiled.

"He's a keeper." Charles winked.

Morticia met her father's eyes. "After everything we've been through, he had better be." Then, her voice traveled to the door. "Thank you, Gomez, I won't be long!" She called.

"Alright!" Gomez called back, straightening himself out.

Morticia broke the embrace with her father, then, and Charles handed her, her cloak.

"Morticia?" Charles figured he would say one last thing before his daughter opened the door.

"Yes, father?"

Charles kissed her forehead. "You _are_ strong enough."

She would not cry. She would not cry. She had a restaurant to go to. She waited for Charles to get out of sight. "Thank you, father." She said to him.

With that, Morticia opened the guestroom door.

Gomez had been standing there, nerves running rampant on the inside. _You imbecile! You do realize that if anyone sees you- oh, dear God._

And then he saw her.

 _What are you doing standing there? Get on your knees! Bow in the presence of greatness!_

Morticia stood there, with the beauty of a siren, the mystery of a witch, and the seductiveness of a vampire.

And then she saw him.

Gomez stood there, with the lust of a sinner, the charm of a saint, and the nature of the spawn of one of the devil's angels.

And their eyes met.

Gomez wore a black pinstriped suit with a grey, silk tie. The tie had black, gothic designs all over it. His dress shoes and socks (not that one could see the socks) were black. But, what mended Morticia's broken heart the most about his style tonight, was this: his wedding ring was off. And his hair was slicked back.

Gomez began to breathe hard. "You're breathtaking." He managed to say.

Morticia gave a small smile. "Thank you, Gomez. I must say, you look…" She thought of a word to describe her feelings of relief, adoration and pure seduction. "Captivating." She said.

"Thank you, my lady." Gomez smirked and took a puff of the cigar he was smoking.

Morticia was ready to put on her cloak, which admittedly saddened Gomez as he could not see as much of her- dress. Yes, of course, her dress.

"Ah, allow me." Gomez kept the cigar between his teeth and fastened Morticia's cloak. He could not stop staring at this woman.

Morticia put up her hood. "Thank you."

Gomez offered her his arm. "Shall we?" He asked.

Morticia linked arms with her lost husband, then, and a thought popped into her head. "Gomez, what will Jeeves think?"

Gomez grinned, slightly deviously. "Ah, not to worry. The old man's locked-tied up at the moment." In truth, he had locked the sleeping Jeeves in his bedroom. The bastard still was unaware, and was sleeping soundly.

The pair then walked down the stairs, and stepped outside into the cold, black night.

It was eerily silent outside, and brought a sense of peace to Gomez and Morticia. 8:30, it was, and there was nothing but bleak blackness for miles and miles. The driveway may have been freshly paved, but it looked much less primeval under the cover of night. The nocturnal creatures such as the owls dare not disturb their mistress of the night as she walked down the length of the driveway with Gomez. The bright-coloured cars shone, slightly neon, thanks to the moon. However, the symbol for darkness did not concentrate on Ophelia's cars. Rather, it concentrated on the gothic temptress, whom was trying to reclaim the heart of a stolen love. It illuminated the queen of bleakness' pale skin. It was at times like this where she truly did look as though she were an apparition. But Gomez, was very glad to say that she was not. She was very, very real.

Gomez continued walking with her for a while, until he came to the garage.

"Is there a specific car we need to take?" Morticia questioned.

Gomez nodded. "Actually, yes." He answered her. Then, he opened the garage, and in it was a spotless, black Silverado truck.

Morticia ran a porcelain hand over the truck. "I'm assuming pastels made you keep this lovely car in the garage?"

Gomez took her hand, but quickly thought better of it and let it go. His conscience was barely interjecting at this point and the poor Spaniard was on his own. "Well, pastels doesn't believe that it's such a lovely car."

"I see." Morticia nodded and Gomez opened the car door for her.

He helped her up and into the truck. Morticia could have managed with her skyscraper legs but she desperately needed the feel of Gomez's warm, strong hands on her.

Gomez turned on London After Midnight, happening to quite enjoy that band, and they talked and swayed a bit to the songs, on the drive to Midnight Music.

They now sat at the table, right next to the largest gothic-looking dancefloor that Morticia had seen in a restaurant.

The interior design of the large restaurant was magnificent. The walls were either grey with gothic designs or black, and the ceiling was white and sparkling with an enormous, black chandelier with blue-tinted lightbulbs. The floor was porcelain and black and white, with a slight hint of blue sparkle. The circular tables around the large floor which could comfortably fit about one hundred couples, were draped with black, gothic tablecloths. The silverware was wrapped in black napkins with white, gothic designs all over them. The pair sat in the ballroom area, and Morticia was clinging to the hope that this place existed in the old reality as well.

Gomez had pulled out her black and silver, velvet, Victorian chair for her and now, they sat at the table closest to the dancefloor, enjoying a meal of medium rare yak, and squid (respectively).

Morticia sipped her red wine. "I was quite surprised when I found that the children had never heard of our father." She said.

Gomez bit into his squid. "Ophelia never talked about him, and I mean that in the most respectful way possible." He told her. "The loss of a parent, let alone one you were closest to…" Gomez shook his head. "I understand completely."

Morticia smiled. "In all my years before moving, living in Massachusetts, I would have thought someone would have told me about this place. It's magnificent, Gomez."

Gomez sipped his Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, and replied, "I would have loved to show it to you."

Morticia felt a pang of sadness at the new reallot, and anger at her sister from deep within her heart, but she responded through the pain. "Well, here's to making up for lost time." She winked and clinked glasses with him.

Gomez chuckled, causing Morticia's heart to flutter. But deep inside, he was fighting an internal battle, unsure if he was winning or losing.

 ** _She's gorgeous. All I want to do is-_** _no. No, I have to lead the resistance! I must be brave!_ ** _But… oh, that smile. Please tell me that she isn't just a figment of my imagination-_** _stop. This was a terrible idea!_ ** _But I'm having the best time I have had in twenty years-_** _don't. Say that!_ ** _Why did I do this?_** _Why_ _did_ _you do this? You're an idiot! What will Ophelia say_ ** _? I don't know but I do know that I love-_** _shut up! Listen to me, old man, listen well. Ophelia. Is. Your wife. Not her._ ** _I know, I never claimed she was my wife but by God, I wish-_** _no._ ** _Yes._** _I said, no._ ** _Well, I didn't._** _Don't defy me!_ ** _I can defy myself if I wish._** _Gomez, as your conscience, I am trying to help you._ ** _You're a figment of my imagination!_** _Perhaps._ ** _Thank you. Now-_** _or perhaps you're schizophrenic._ ** _Bastard._** _Your fly is down._ ** _What?_** _No, it isn't._ ** _Get out of my head, now._** _Alright, but you should know that you have been staring at her for approximately two minutes now._ ** _I have?_** _Goodbye._

"Are you alright, Gomez?" Morticia asked.

Gomez nodded. "Yes, I'm alright. Anyways, I…" Lost in her beauty, he paused. He heard violins and other melodic instruments, beginning to play an instrumental, to a song that he had not listened to in years. It, for whatever reason, reminded him of her. And here it was, here she was. Both within his reach. So, he took his chance.

Gomez stood, and suavely walked toward Morticia. Then, he extended his hand.

Morticia heard the music, then, and it took all of her willpower not to cry, as her ears had found the melody of Goodbye Sweet Sanity… and it was all to fitting.

Her icy hand took his, and she allowed him to lead her to the floor.

Effortlessly, Gomez's arms were around her waist, and she was pulled against his chest. She let her hands rest on his shoulders, and their bodies swayed together in perfect unison. They were like an old team of dancers, having not seen each other in an eternity, but coming back together for another show, and having no practice, danced together as if they had.

Morticia's black eyes met his, and her heart jumped out of her chest.

 _At the stroke of midnight,_

 _The vultures take their moonlit flight._

 _And the darkness surrounds,_

 _The people are frightened,_

 _But the raven says, 'Don't worry now'…_

The words to what used to be, what always was, their song were on repeat in Morticia's mind as her body moved perfectly with the man holding her.

 _Softly lie and whisper,_

 _Goodbye sweet sanity…_

Gomez was having the best time he had had in these past altered twenty years. However, a gloomy Thursday, unfortunately for him, was indeed void of a torrential downpour, and that blasted sun did indeed keep trying to peek its ugly rays through the cracks in his beautiful, overcast sky.

When Gomez looked into Morticia's dark eyes and twirled her at the end of the song, however… his mind began to run rampant, and not in the unusually usual sense.

 _Softly lie and whisper,_

 _Goodbye sweet sanity…_

Gomez continued dancing with her, but he internally froze up. For a moment, he was transported into what had to be an alternate reality.

 _He was in a different room, a bistro of some sort, and he was wearing different clothes, a navy blue, pinstriped suit, and his hair was slicked back as if he had done it all his life. He was dancing, perfectly with a woman, clad in black, and seemed completely enraptured by her. Upon further inspection, he realized, that this woman was Morticia._

But the vision ended as quickly as it had come. A waltz soon followed suit to what Gomez did not know was their song, and he got into position with Morticia. One strong arm firmly gripped her thin waist, while the other firmly held her delicate hand in his own.

Morticia looked happier than she had been in this past month, and when she smiled at him, another strange occurrence happened.

In this vision, _Gomez was again, with Morticia. He was spinning her about in a grand ballroom, that looked much like the old Addams' ballroom, and they looked the age that they were now… only, happier. And as Gomez dipped Morticia in his arms-_

The vision ended. They had danced song after song from slow dancing, to ballroom dancing, to a waltz, and Morticia's heart was slowly sewing itself up. Was it still cracked? Oh, yes. But, was it slowly mending? Indeed, it was.

Then, as if by magic, the violins sped up, and the other instruments joined in.

The pair, then, at the same time realized that the Argentine tango had begun to play.

Morticia couldn't believe it. Would he still…? Did he remember how to…? Her questions were answered when leading, Gomez got into position with her. Before she could get a grip on herself, she was transported. He knew exactly what he was doing, as did she. His arms were around her, and their legs moved in perfect harmony. He dipped her and she twirled and it was magical.

Morticia only wished to God, that she could feel the touch of his lips, and taste what she was craving. However, as of now, in this moment, this was enough. She hadn't danced in what felt like twenty years, and in a way, she was not wrong.

Gomez, as he lead in the dance he was absolutely best at, had to have another vision.

 _He was dancing the tango with Morticia in that same ballroom again, only this time it was a bit different. There was a fiery passion that was clearly burning within the both of them. And it was allowed. What really made his heart melt due to the overpowering heat of the moment, was when Morticia's long leg was draped over his shoulder. He held her, a thorny, black rose between his teeth. Then, he let it drop out of his mouth and held Morticia in his arms. Passionately with a hint of delicacy, he dipped her. His mouth inched closer to hers… closer… ready to devour her whole he was as he inched closer…_

The vision ended, and Gomez looked around for an excuse to break the embrace, as he suddenly felt a bit sick, and completely disoriented. He finally did find it.

The dance was over, and Gomez -trying not to show that he was on the verge of spontaneous combustion- smiled at her. "It's 11:30." He said.

The sound of his accented, alluring voice brought Morticia back to reality. She looked around. "It seems we're the only ones left."

Gomez nodded, perspiring. "It appears we are."

Morticia smiled. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes." Gomez seemed to be trying to convince himself. "Yes, everything's alright. I'm just feeling a bit under."

Morticia shook her head, in understanding, although a bit disheartened. "How about we drive home?" She asked.

Gomez nodded, still smiling at her. "Yes, I think that would be best."

They soon exited the restaurant, and ever the gentleman, Gomez helped Morticia into the truck.

The weather, for some odd reason, was unchanged from when the duo had left. It was still just as black outside, and the clouds appeared ready to let beautiful, wet rain explode out of them. However, something appeared to be holding them back. Perhaps, the weather was waiting, waiting for the right moment to help resurrect the lost love it had mourned.

Gomez drove home, music blaring at full volume, not that either he or Morticia minded. However, whilst driving, Gomez fought deep, deep urges. These urges were tearing him apart.

"I'd like to thank you for a wonderful evening." Morticia said to him.

Gomez nodded, his head overcome with confusion. "I'd like to thank you, as well." He replied. "You're a marvelous dancer."

"Thank you." Morticia replied. "I can honestly say, that was the happiest I've been in what feels like an eternity."

Gomez's eyes traveled to the bottom portion of Morticia's dress. The urge to take one of his strong hands and squeeze the hell out of her thigh. The thought of leaving a bruise on her beautiful body… he had to get these thoughts out of his head. _Now._ "I can honestly say the same." He responded.

Then, it went quiet. That is, until a peel of thunder could be heard in the distance, lightening flashed across the darkened sky… and it began to rain, and rain hard.

Gomez could not help but be transported by the melodic and thunderous fall of the wet sky drops. Transported that is, into another blasted vision.

Actually, his mind was bombarded with visions. It appeared that as the rain fell harder, and the lightening drew closer, his mind slipped further into what he could only describe as insanity.

 _Gomez and Morticia lied together in the enormous, comfortable bed with scarlet silk and satin sheets. It was not their bedroom, but rather the grand suite at an elegant, Victorian gothic hotel. Gomez held Morticia, tightly and protectively in his strong, muscular arms. His hair was slicked back, as it was in almost all of his visions. He wore no shirt, but black pajama bottoms and burgundy boxer briefs under them, not that they were visible. He could just… tell. It was nightfall, and the large windows showed the torrential downpour outside. Gomez was holding her close, and whispering Spanish and Italian terms of endearment. His lips would meet her ghost white hand or he would devour her neck. "Je t'aime, mon cher." Morticia had said. And that was his undoing. He brought her beautiful face close to his own to steal her lips in a-_

 _Gomez was now at some museum. There were magnificent instruments of persuasion, torture weapons and occult artifacts and scrolls cluttered the organized mess of the splendidly hands-on museum. He was holding Morticia from behind, and they watched on the black and white projector as how these items were used played out before their eyes. Morticia watched in complete amazement as the demonstration continued, and Gomez could barely keep his hands off of her. He was just satisfied that he had succeeded in making this woman happy, and did also quite enjoy hearing about what weapon was used to torture whom and in what way. When it was over, Gomez spun her around in his arms and moved closer to her, her hands on his chest, ready to give in to his-_

 _By now, Gomez's half-subconscious had registered that he and Morticia were on some vacation in Salem. He and Morticia were back in the hotel room, and Morticia was looking out the window, in seventh heaven, or hell. She would go anywhere with Gomez. Her makeup was still on, but she wore her tight, black nightgown. It was in a very deep V-neck cut, and silk. It had a crease in the side up to her midthigh. Her legs were mesmerizing. They were white as snow, like the rest of her breathtaking body was. And, they were long, they stretched on for miles and miles of beauty. Gomez then soundlessly walked up behind her, and his hands snaked around her slim waist. Morticia smiled, melting into him. He craned his neck and turned, meeting Morticia's eyes. She leaned in, and as natural as everything else between the pair, their lips-_

 _Now, Gomez was walking down the almost empty street with Morticia. He had been wrestling with a very flimsy umbrella, and perhaps carried it on a bit longer because he just loved to make that beautiful goddess of moonlight smile. The umbrella was eventually flattened by a semitruck, but neither of them seemed to mind. Gomez stood before her, admiring how incredibly enthralling she was, nonetheless beautiful despite being soaked and wearing his suit-jacket. "Gomez…" The man having the vision was trapped in it, despite the voices, clear as day. "Gomez…" Gomez's lips inched closer to Morticia's, and-_

"Gomez!" Morticia shouted.

Gomez snapped back to reality, and realized he had lost control of the wheel, and they were headed straight for an evergreen tree. Gomez quickly regained control of his vehicular engine, and he spun out of the way of the tree.

It was silent, as each tried to stabilize their own breathing, having both been bounced from their seat to the front of the car and back again due to the jolt.

Morticia blew the hair out of her face, speechless, and trying to catch her breath.

Gomez put a concerned hand on Morticia's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Morticia nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Then, as if a near-death experience were so humourous, the pair began to laugh. They laughed so hard that they very well could have almost crashed again.

"I was never particularly Christian but I believe I may have just seen God!" Gomez laughed.

Morticia leaned back in her seat, then raised a questioning eyebrow. "Are you sure it wasn't Satan?"

"With all the deeds I've done, I wouldn't be surprised." Gomez remarked.

Morticia sighed. "I had breakfast with him once. He seems alright."

Gomez raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding?"

"I am. But, sometimes, I wish that I wasn't. I have questions." Morticia responded.

"Really, Ms. Frump? And what kind of questions would you have for the devil?"

"I can think of a few."

Gomez helped her out of the car once they did arrive home, at around midnight.

They walked in the door, and Gomez had to fight not to take her in his arms, say, _fuck this_ and devour her whole. However, even he, could not make the world disappear.

"Gomez?" Morticia found him staring off into space again and wondered why. She hoped to hell that it was because right at this moment, he was losing his composure, and his resistance was fully wearing down.

Truth be told, Gomez was stuck. He was stuck in a time and a place that supposedly never existed to him. It was foreign yet familiar at the same time, and he could not help but stare, entranced.

 _The stairs, for a moment, looked exactly like the stairs of the old Addams mansion. Brown, slightly worn but characterized with a beautifully macabre history. And up those stairs, walked an eighteen-year-old Gomez, carrying Morticia in his arms as he ascended those stairs. That was when Gomez noticed the shining, silver wedding ring on Morticia's finger, and the gold on his own._

 _It was their wedding night._

Gomez realized then, that those rings were always there… in every vision. In every- he felt sick. He felt incredibly, terribly sick. He… he had to go, he had to think. "Goodnight, Morticia." Gomez kissed her hand. "Thank you for a most, incredible evening."

Then, he walked off, leaving his forgotten bride to ascend the flights of stairs on her own.

Morticia sat on the side of her bed, staring at her hands. She had barely moved. She could not sleep. She could not read. She could only think.

She missed him, she needed him, she was yearning for him and she. Was. Dying. Truly, dying without him. This was the last night, in her eyes. The last night… she had to do something. She had to fight. They fought, hard for their love, and the universe kicked them in the balls for it. But, damn it, she needed to fight. She had to. She had to.

Morticia could not understand it. She was sure, she was so sure that-

"Morticia?" There came a knock at her door, accompanied by a voice.

It was Gomez.

"It's open." Morticia responded.

Gomez then walked into the room, locking the door behind him. He was in his daywear, still, as well. In fact, he looked as though he had not slept in days, even though he seemed alright a mere couple of hours ago.

"Gomez?" Morticia stood up, canopy around her bed, already pulled back. "I assumed you were asleep."

"I…" Gomez did not know what was happening to him. He felt things, he saw things, he... "I couldn't sleep, I… I have to talk to you."

"About?" Morticia inquired.

Gomez had to bring it up. Now this bewitching enchantress had him under a spell, a captivating spell that fucked with his head and he could not take it… not again. "What the hell are you doing to me?"

Oh, not this again. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You bewitched me, Morticia." Gomez began. "From the moment you came back, I have been needing you. You're beautiful, and dark and enchanting and I want to shoot myself. I don't know why you came back. To torture me? Because it is more torture than even I can take. I am having glimpses, visions, _memories,_ of events that never took place! If I married you, _I would remember it._ If I got to make my deep love for you known in the most fantastic way possible, _I would remember it._ I would remember _every kiss, every dance_ because _that_ is what I dream about. So, why the hell are you doing this? I worked hard to do what I had to do to survive, but it all came crumbling down last month. I honestly cannot tell what you're trying to do but you cannot just vanish and come back twenty years later! My heart cannot take it again." He cried.

Morticia broke both at his tears and at his words. But, she could not help but also be angry. _His_ heart? _His_ heart couldn't take it? " _Your_ heart can't take it? Gomez, the second I laid eyes on you and whatever the hell kind of spell Ophelia has you under, I wanted to break down. My heart shriveled up and has been on its deathbed since I saw you again." Inadvertently, she began to cry as well. "And then to watch you look me in the eyes and hear you say that I _left?_ "

"I apologize if you can't take honesty!" Gomez had to get a grip on himself, here. He looked her in her black eyes. "Do you remember when I knew that hurt and pain were different things?" He asked, rhetorically, as he already knew the answer. "Morticia, I was arranged to marry your sister. You pulled up to our house in that black hearse of a car and I saw you. I laid eyes on you, Morticia, and I was entranced, captivated, _bewitched._ I could not stop staring at you, all through the eulogy. I took you for a stroll through the cemetery, we took a tour of the estate and I took you into the ballroom. We danced and we talked and Morticia Frump, _I fell in love with you._ _Deep, hard-hitting, passionate love._ I was no longer a cad and a fool when I saw you, I was a slave to your every desire and I thought nothing of the woman that I was arranged to marry. Rather, I focused my intention on the woman I intended to, the woman I was destined to marry. You and I shared things, Morticia. Beautiful, wonderful things, I… kept the only picture of you that I had. It was taken at Balthazar's funeral. I made love to you that night, and I did things to you that I never could do with anyone else. You made me feel and experience true love and I never wanted to let that go. But, the next day, when it was announced that my parents and your mother had officially arranged Ophelia and I to marry… you were gone. I never did get a chance to beg you to stay because when I came back into the bedroom, you were gone." Gomez was an emotional ruin of passionate anger, bitterness, and love. "I wrote to you for three years, but I never once heard back." He explained. "So yes, you left. And when you vanished, so did I."

Morticia could not believe what she was hearing. So, it was true. In this reality, she left. She left, carnage and chaos of a terrible sort in her wake. She had never felt more hurt, more ashamed than when she learned pf the worst, most terrible act… and she truly, had never even committed it.

Her anger at her sister was stronger than it had ever been, her love for Gomez was a passionate, roaring fire. Her need, her hunger… it was animalistic. She was breaking. _Breaking._ And she had no idea how to stop it. So, she asked, "Do you honestly believe I would ever leave you, Gomez?"

Gomez was now bitterly broken. "I didn't. But you did."

"No." Morticia shook her head. She knew she had no choice. It was time to tell him. "I didn't."

There was a short pause as Morticia formulated her words.

"Gomez," she began. "Gomez, I _did_ marry you. I loved you, I _still_ love you with every ounce of my being. For years, we were blissfully unhappy. All I needed to get through my day was your hands on me, and the touch of your lips. We had passion, more passion in our hearts than all of the world's most famous cinematic, fictional and nonfictional lovers in history. You may have been a slave for me, Gomez, but I loved you more than anything and I still do. You. Were. And are. My everything. And this," Morticia gestured about the awful white room. " _All of this,_ is my fault! Mainly, however, it's Ophelia's." She grew impassioned in her words as tears made their way down her hauntingly beautiful features. "She tricked me, all of us. She enacted a spell called Sensus Inversus when I made us travel to see her. She used the lure of an inheritance from my father to get me to do so because I loved my father more than words could express. She. Sent us. Back in time. You, Gomez, would have died for me and I know you still would. That woman had a gun to my head, you drank that… that _poison._ " Morticia spat. "You drank that poison and you went down. But you had faith that I would find you, darling. And goddamit, I did. I put you in danger, and I am sorry. I _loved_ you. I _adored_ you. _I found you._ " Morticia stepped closer to him, and looked her lost love right in the eyes. "But I _never_ , left you."

Gomez could believe what he was hearing. He could, and he did. And he looked up at her, tears in his eyes. The room was spinning, and so was his head but for the first time in an alternate twenty years, it was on straight. "Morticia..." He nodded. "I believe you."

Morticia had to catch her breath. She had to register his words.

There was a long, uneasy period of silence.

Morticia then spoke, needing to. "I… heard you. And Ophelia, once." And more tears fell. "I thought my heart was going to take its final beat."

Gomez was at a loss. This shattered him. It broke his world to know he had hurt her. "I am so sorry, Morticia." He said, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. "I did it because when you are forced into a situation, it is very hard to just…" Gomez tried to think of something, anything to explain himself. "Morticia?"

Morticia had been through heaven, hell and back for round two. Eyes closed, tears fell from her black, lengthy lashes like the rain that used to calm her. Her face was turned, and she was afraid, to meet his gaze.

"Morticia?" Gomez ran to her, taking her hands. "Tish, look at me."

Morticia's heart was jolted with volt upon volt of life, like an opposite electric chair. That name. Oh, God, that name. Her head practically shot up and she finally did look Gomez in the eyes. But, as much as she did not want to, she had to ask. "Do you love her?"

Gomez hesitated, not. _"Absolutely not."_ There was the upmost disgust for Ophelia in his voice." " _Never_ have I loved her, nor will I _ever_ love her. I have not a single. Ounce. Of love. For that _beast._ "

Morticia shook her head, more affected by this incident than even she had realized. "Then, why did you… why?"

"Morticia, every time I ever put my hands on her, I envisioned it as someone else." Gomez spoke, honesty and passion, and much-needed explanation taking over him. "Sometimes, anyone else to distract me from the pain. But I could not help but pretend I was with you. Every time I touched her, I wanted to be touching you. However, I could never, would never do the things to her that I would do to you."

Morticia's heart was mended, almost fully, at his words. And her ruby lips gave a small smile. "Even if I left in this reality… you still love me?"

"Morticia, I adore you. I worship you, I would do anything for you. I live for you, would die for you, I would kill for you." Gomez chuckled. "Either way, what bliss." He paused. "You are the best thing that has ever, and will ever happen to me. I love you, with everything I am, and everything I have." Gomez tenderly took her hand, and put it over his muscled chest. "My heart, my dilapidated heart, it beats for you."

Morticia was breathless, and could not help but let the remainder of her tears fall.

Gomez's hands wrapped around her waist. "And I thank you, my darling, for rescuing me."

Morticia wrapped her arms around her amour's neck. "I just want you to hold me. I have been deprived of your touch by that depraved woman. I miss you, I miss you more than anything. I miss you, and your touch and…" She gave a bittersweet laugh. "Do you remember what you used to call me?"

"Of course, I do, querida." Gomez looked her in her dark eyes, an intense passion burning in his own. "I love you, amore de mi vida." He gently pushed the hair back from her face.

Finally, at long last, Morticia felt safe again. Depraved of his touch, she was completely in bliss as Gomez pulled her, close against his chest. "Ah, I love you, too, mon cher."

Gomez, finally, after an eternity of being without her, let his lips meet hers.

Morticia grabbed him, desperate, never wanting to let him go. Her moth parted and she let his tongue roam about, craving more.

Break apart, however, they had to, for a moment. A large gust of wind blew through the room.

And, after being hit by a wave of memories of marrying Morticia, becoming parents, celebrating anniversaries, happiness… Gomez -not that there was any doubt- had to believe her. As, life before was remembered. And he was awakened.

He looked at her, his eyes making him look like himself. "Tish?"

Morticia's face lit up, she knew the second it happened. "You remember?"

Gomez, impassioned and memory now restored, grabbed her. He took her hand and kissed it, then worked his way up her arm, desperation taking over him. He finished with her arm and he devoured her neck. But, then, he pulled her in for the deepest, most passionate kiss they had shared in a month.

Morticia was barely drawing in breaths, and was reveling in the new notion that she had her amour back, and she wasn't alone anymore. She would never be, ever again. _"Gomez, oh, God."_ She latched onto him, pulling herself against him.

"It's alright, Morticia." Gomez's fingers ran through her silky hair. "It's alright."

Morticia cupped his cheeks, her stiletto nails slightly drumming against them. She shook her head. "No, not until I hear my name again. What do you call me, Gomez?"

"It's alright, Tish." Gomez kissed her palm.

Morticia smiled. "That's better."

"No," Gomez now shook his head. "Not until I hear you scream."

Morticia was exploding on the inside, but on the outside, she took a deep breath in. _"Please."_ Was all she said.

No further direction needed, Gomez practically ripped off his shirt. He picked her up and lied her down on the hideous mattress, no- on the hideous bed. It was now, officially, a bed.

Morticia was panting, savouring every perfect touch with a cannibalistic hunger for more.

Gomez removed her corset, skillfully and lifted her dress over her head. And what he saw under that dress… he missed her terribly.

Morticia wore a black, pushup bra with black undergarments, including a sexy, black garter. "I knew you'd come around." She smirked.

Gomez groaned. "I love you." He had her under him, and desperately missed the feeling. He did to her what he could never, would never do to anyone else. But it was easy, really, he worshipped her.

Canopy pulled over the bed, -not that the two noticed or cared- Gomez let his tongue dance in her mouth, and her own threw his quite the welcome-home party.

Gomez bit her lip, his seductive, half-lidded eyes looking into her own.

Morticia moaned as Gomez let his lips travel down to her neck, and quickly, he found that nerve. That nerve that when he bit it, made his love's senses scream and plead for more. And that was indeed his intention.

Gomez sucked her neck at first, and waited for just the right moment to sink his teeth into it. This elicited a gasp from Morticia, then a groan as he licked the blood that dripped out of her bite.

Gomez did not stop there, never. His hands aggressively yet adoringly moved across her desperate body, as did his lips and tongue. He skipped over where she desired most, so he could look her in the eyes for a moment.

Morticia raised an eyebrow, seduced and waiting for his next move.

Gomez smirked, and let his lips crash into hers before he used his teeth and ripped off her bra, tossing it to the side.

Morticia let her head rest on the satin pillows as she let out a blissful sigh. "Ah, I've missed you, mon diable."

"And I, you, mi amore de mi vida." Gomez replied as he unhooked her garters, removing her thigh highs attached, and then his own pants. He hovered over her, and she was almost completely naked.

As much as the lovers did enjoy torturing one another, they did feel that they had been tortured quite enough.

Gomez let his lips roam until he was able to access the part of her she craved.

She waited, wanting, desperate.

Animalistic, Gomez ripped those off as well, and began to do what both of them had missed.

He let his fingers expertly massage the hot flesh of her center, and listened, in heaven, to the pleasure-filled moans escaping his only. And, needing to bring her to the edge, Gomez buried his head her, and spent minutes making good use of his tongue.

"Oh, Gomez!" Morticia gripped the bed, having completely fallen off the face of the earth.

This time, however, Gomez caught her. But he was not nearly through with her yet.

He captured her crimson lips again, and Morticia tugged at his boxer briefs, unable to live any longer without the feeling of him inside of her.

Gomez, understanding and ravenous, quickly did away with them, leaving both of them exposed and ready.

After another minute of expertly driving each other insane, Gomez entered her.

Morticia's sharp nails dug into his back and scratched across his chest, and Gomez hissed in painful pleasure.

They reached their climax together, and the lovers' bodies melted into one another. Their screams, moans, touches and caresses, concealed under the cover of deadly nightshade.

Gomez let his hands cup her breasts and then, could not get enough of the taste of her lips. "Cara mia…"

Morticia, arms wrapped around her darling one, moaned in pleasure. "Mmm… mon amour."


	18. Cara Mia

Morticia's eyes fluttered open when she awoke in the guest bedroom.

The night she had had last night! She had told Gomez everything, and he had believed her. Not only had he believed her, he had remembered. He had done everything to her that she was craving, desperately. She could still recall the effects of last night. He kissed her up her long leg the way he used to. He made his amatory way up her body, slowly, adoringly until he lost himself in their passion and he found her lips, crashing into them like his eternity depended on it and taking her again, hard. They were up until at least 4:00 am, making up for lost time, and Gomez was indeed grateful that he had locked Jeeves in his bedroom.

Morticia only hoped that her cruel, mocking subconscious was not playing another trick on her. She prayed that it was not making her dream that Gomez was with her, all the while he was not. She was so starved for his touch, she needed it more than she needed water. Dehydrated? An understatement, really. Every single organ shutting down due to a desert-like heat stroke? That was more like it. Morticia was worried that this all likely could have been a mirage. And she was right, it could have been…

But this time, it wasn't.

Morticia's tired, dark eyes surveyed her surroundings, and she had never felt safer. Clothing, shoes, her corset, fabrics galore were in disarray, in piles all over the floor. The window, Morticia realized, had been open and there was still a handprint on it, from last night. She sighed in relief, fortunate that there was not a neighbour for miles. The canopy was only half-pulled over the bed, but the eyes of Ms. Frump were still only searching for one thing… Mr. Addams.

Of course, when she did find him, their eyes met and Gomez could not resist. He kissed her.

"Good morning, cara mia." Gomez's lips met her hand. His other arm was holding her close, as he had been all night.

Morticia smiled. "Good morning, mon cher." She sighed. "I've missed you." She said for what had to be the hundredth time.

"And I you, my dearest." Gomez replied. His strong arms squeezed her in a tight, adoring embrace. He looked over at the clock on the wall. It was almost 9:00 am.

Jeeves had been locked in his bedroom for thirteen hours! No dinner nor any food and water, no way of getting out…

Gomez shook his head, still smiling down at his black angel. "Mi corazón, I believe I may have killed Jeeves."

Morticia's eyes widened. "Pardon?"

"The poor man really does get sick and disoriented if he doesn't eat. He's been in that room…" Gomez thought. "Thirteen hours now." He replied, nonchalantly.

Morticia shook her head. "Are you saying that you locked Jeeves in his bedroom all night?"

"I neglected to mention this, I'm assuming?" Gomez asked, figuring he knew the answer.

Morticia's crimson nails drummed on Gomez's strong chest, absently. She looked up at him. "Yes." She replied.

Gomez's hand ran over Morticia's back as he spoke. "In my defense, Tish, I forget everything around you."

Morticia seemed satisfied by his choice of words. "I know." She sighed, then. "Gomez, perhaps we should let him out of there?"

Gomez nodded, pretending to agree. Then, he discarded the façade, a seductive grin on his handsome face. "Or…" He drew out the word and sucked her neck. "We could stay here for a while longer."

"You devil." Morticia closed her eyes, her neck sensitive from last night.

Gomez smirked and met her eyes. "Forever, mi hermosa demonio."

"Well, lets see…" Morticia pretended to think over her options. "Let the butler out of his bedroom, or stay in this room and get devoured again." Her voice lowered slightly in seduction. "I think I like the second option better."

Gomez's eyes lit up. "As do I."

"Well, then…" Morticia kissed him, biting his lip. "Devour me."

Gomez carried out her request with pleasure, and before they knew it, another hour had passed. The lovers now sat up in bed together. Well, Gomez did. His arms were wrapped around Morticia's waist and she lied in his lap, completely supported by his muscular form, the blanket pulled up to her chest, much to her lover's disappointment.

"Tish, my darling?" Gomez gently pushed her hair over to her side. "I have something to ask you."

"Anything." Morticia replied, her hands now atop his.

"How do we get back?" Gomez asked.

It took Morticia a moment to register his words. Back? Ah, yes… they still had the world to worry about. They still had to worry about Ophelia, and the alternate universe they were forced into… life. They still had to worry about life.

So, despite the confusing nature of the reversal process, Morticia did indeed explain everything. She explained that now that he remembered, all they had to do was mix their blood and create a counter potion.

"Perfect." Gomez replied. "Oh, Tish, your probably exhausted." He looked at her, sympathy and lustful adoration in his eyes. "I know how hard it is for you to sleep without…" He felt terrible about that, still.

"Just promise me that I won't ever have to fall asleep without being in your arms again." Morticia responded. "That was torture."

"I'd do anything for you, mi amore. Of course." He kissed her. Despite his disgust for the woman, Gomez knew he had to ask about her. "Tish… what are we going to do about Ophelia?"

Morticia nuzzled her head in Gomez's shoulder. "It kills me to suggest this." She presaged. "We're going to have to pretend that…" She swallowed her heart and her pride. "This didn't happen, when we're in front of people."

Gomez felt his heart sink. "Morticia, I can't do that to you, not again. Not now that I have my memory back."

Morticia nodded. "I know, mon diable. But we have to try." She said. "We'll make the potion once we're sure we can be alone."

Gomez took his querida's hands. "If I have to kiss her, my eyes will be concentrated on the end result, you."

Morticia's voice, while still captivating, was full of tiredness. "If that restaurant exists in the old reality, promise you'll take me there?"

Gomez kissed her blood-coloured lips. "Yes." He replied. "And if it doesn't, I'll have it built for you."

Morticia squeezed his hand. "Merci, mon amour." She purred.

"Oh, Tish…" Gomez took her pale hand and brought his lips to it.

"When is Ophelia going to be home?" Morticia inquired. "I want to have you all to myself for as long as possible."

"She checks out at one o'clock." Gomez said.

"So, we have about four hours?"

Gomez nodded. "Yes, and I intend to spend every one of them showing you how much I adore you."

"Je t'aime, mon sauvage." Morticia smirked.

"Tish, you're killing me." Gomez groaned and went straight for her mouth until he was able to let his tongue roam about, and causing his darling one to press closer to him.

Then, after a minute, Gomez felt a rumbling in Morticia's stomach.

"Mi reina, you're probably starving."

Morticia looked up at him. "Mmm… I still am." She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her lips melt into Gomez's.

When the kiss was broken, after having been drawn out for quite a long time, Gomez cupped her cheek. "I'm making you breakfast."

"Are you, now?" Morticia felt her heart skip a beat. She could not wait until they could get back to torturing each other. As much as she loved her whip, she quite enjoyed the cuffs being on the other hand.

Gomez smirked. "Yes, I am. I will not have you getting sick on me, you haven't eaten since early last night." He got out of bed and put on his black pajama pants. Then, Gomez neatly arranged the blankets for her as he spoke. "Now, pastels does not know I have this."

Morticia gave a light laugh.

 _"But,"_ Gomez continued. "I have a stash of food that I actually consider edible, I've been keeping it for years. So, I am making you breakfast, it should be ready shortly. And you're going to eat it."

Morticia rolled her eyes. "Yes, _sir._ "

Gomez grinned. " _Sir…_ I like it." Testing his limits today?

Morticia playfully hit his arm.

Gomez held up his hands, in defense. "Breakfast, coming right up, my lady."

Morticia stretched, elegantly.

Gomez's lips met Morticia's delicate fingers. "Name a meal, and it will be made."

"Surprise me." Morticia replied.

"Haven't you had enough surprises?" Gomez asked.

"Keep it up and I might resist a bit today." Morticia smirked.

"That's alright. I have ways of rectifying that situation quickly." Gomez responded. He then got a lustful and slightly nostalgic look on his face. "Do remember our honeymoon?"

Morticia turned to face her only. "The waves weren't the only thing rocking on that cruise."

Gomez took her hand. "When was the last time I took you on a cruise?"

"Oh, Gomez… about three years ago, now."

Gomez kissed her hand. "It's been too long, cara mia."

Morticia gave a light sigh. "I'll be downstairs shortly, mon amour."

Gomez nodded after giving her one last kiss, and opened the door.

"Oh, Gomez?"

Gomez looked back. "Yes, my darling?"

Morticia yawned, silently. "Make sure to unlock Jeeves."

Gomez remembered the butler then. "Yes, I feel the old man deserves to live at least a few more years."

Little did Mr. Addams realize, he would not feel like that if he knew what his butler had been up to recently.

Then, Gomez put on his black slippers and red, silk robe, and exited the guestroom, leaving his gothic beauty to take her time and awaken.

Morticia reapplied her makeup and -figuring that she would be showering after breakfast, anyway- dawned her nightgown. It was silk, tight, black, with that deep cut V-neck and swept the floor. She then slipped on her black slippers.

She had been folding the clothes, neatly on her bed for about two minutes when her father appeared behind her.

She turned. "Father." She greeted him.

Charles wore a worried expression, surprising his daughter whom was ecstatic at how last night, and her morning had turned out.

"Is something wrong?" Morticia asked her father.

Charles gave a half-smile, happy for his daughter but upset at the news he was going to have to give. First, he started off on a good note, however. "Yes. But I'll get to that in a minute." He said. "First, I want to say this: I'm so proud of you!" He hugged her.

Morticia hugged him back. "Thank you, father."

"I forgot how wonderful that boy was." Charles beamed.

"I didn't." Morticia sighed. "He's my oxygen. Forgetting that for me would be like forgetting to breathe."

Charles patted his daughter's shoulder. "Morticia… there's something I must share with you, about the spell."

Morticia arched her eyebrow. "Oh?"

Charles nodded. "Yes, dear. You see, I…" He hesitated, seeming as though he were a small child who had just broken a vase, and now had to own up to it before his mother. "I may have misinterpreted the spell."

Morticia gulped. "What?"

Charles backed up. "The potion… has to be made _on_ your old anniversary. Everything else still stood… or, well, stands, however."

Morticia breathed a sigh of relief that this was all that the trouble was. "That's alright."

Charles seemed a bit apprehensive, still. "It is?"

"Of course." Morticia finished folding the clothes. "Gomez and I are desperate to get back to our old reality, but we can hold out for two more days."

Charles gave a lighthearted chuckle. "You two are really something else."

Morticia smiled, thinking of last night and this morning. "Yes, we-" She paused. "What time is it?"

"Eager to get downstairs?" Charles crossed his arms.

Morticia crossed her arms as well, a perfect representation of her father. "He's making me breakfast."

Charles nodded. "Mmm. What's he making?"

"Father…"

Charles rolled his eyes and looked at the clock. "It's time for you to stop growing up."

"It's a bit late for that, father."

Charles sighed. "Then, it's 9:45."

Morticia kissed her father's cheek and opened the bedroom door. "Thank you, father."

"Hey, what else am I here for?" Charles asked. He sat on his daughter's bed after she left, closing the door behind her. He sat there for quite a few minutes, lost in nostalgic memories pertaining to who his beautiful, intelligent daughter had become.

Gomez was almost through with preparing breakfast, and while waiting for his enchanting goddess of midnight, he decided now would be a good time to unlock Jeeves, as he was to take the children shopping this morning (seeing as they had off from school)

He walked up the stairs until he got to the floor where his butler slept. Immediately, upon getting to the third floor, he heard a terrible scream.

"Help!" Gomez heard banging on the door at the end of the unsightly hallway. "Mrs. Addams! _Mrs. Addams!_ "

Jeeves was still in his nightclothes, and was perspiring, heavily. He was up half the night, locked in his bedroom, thinking ever sound, or slight creak of wood were the footsteps of a bloodthirsty axe-murderer. He thrust himself against his bedroom door, probably leaving a big, black and blue bruise on his somewhat week body. _"Mr. Addams! Ms. Frump? Somebody!"_

Then… Jeeves heard footsteps. Right outside his door.

He shrieked. "No! Please, please, take the children instead!" He cried.

The footsteps grew closer.

"Please! I beg of you, I have to live! I… I'm too young to die!" This contradicted his last plea of, _please, take the children instead,_ but Jeeves did not seem to care. "I'm merely the butler! _If it's real money your after, my employers are sleeping right upstairs-"_

The door opened, soundlessly, and Jeeves tumbled out of his bedroom, his scarlet nightcap flopping over his troubled eyes when he hit the ground. He made a _piff_ , noise as he blew the hanging material from his cap out of his face.

Trembling, he looked about, and saw a pair of black slippers. Slowly, and uneasily, Jeeves' eyes panned upwards, and he had to do a doubletake.

Gomez stood before Jeeves, but his hair was slicked back -much more fitting but, still- and _where. Was. His wedding ring?_ "Mister… Addams?"

Gomez helped Jeeves to his feet. "Jeeves, old man!" He drew a cigar from the breast pocket of his robe and began to smoke it. He -all in lightheartedness- slapped Jeeves' back.

This caused Jeeves to almost fall again but his master caught him. "Mr. Add- Mr. Addams." Jeeves, still shaken, greeted his employer.

"How was your night?" Gomez asked.

 _How was my-"_ Jeeves collected himself, on the verge of a breakdown. "How was _your_ night, Mr. Addams?" He asked, through clenched teeth.

"Splendid." Gomez replied. "Oh, Jeeves?"

Jeeves caught his breath. "Yes, Mr. Addams?"

"Would you get dressed?" Gomez asked, politely. "I'll wake the children."

"Why?" Jeeves inquired, afraid of the answer.

Gomez held his cigar between his fingers. "Have you forgotten?" He asked. "The children need to shop for their…" Gomez was at a loss. What did they do again? Ah, yes, sports and… dance. Oh, his poor Morticia should never have seen him indulge these awful hobbies. "Hobbies."

Hobbies? Hair slicked back? No wedding ring? Asking about his night? Something very strange was going on with Mr. Addams indeed.

Jeeves was beyond displeased by this. He had been awake almost all night, feared for his life, fell -quite literally- to the feet of his employer, and would likely suffer the wrath of Mrs. Addams later that day for whatever reason. And now, _now,_ he had to go shopping?

He swallowed his pride due to his salary and nodded, deflated. "Yes, Mr. Addams." Then, he slunk back into his bedroom to ready himself for the day.

"Mmm…" Morticia sat in Gomez's lap on the couch while he massaged her neck and shoulders. Hell is for Children by Pat Benetar played on the radio.

Gomez had made a breakfast of silkworm eggs on toast and henbane tea; and Jeeves had left about ten minutes ago now with the children.

He and his everything were completely alone in the house for a couple of more hours, and the lovers were determined to make the most of it.

"How is it?" Gomez asked.

Morticia was lost in the bliss of his touch, but his alluring voice brought her back to reality. "How is what?" She asked.

Gomez kissed her cheek, happy to satisfy his black angel. "The food."

"Oh, it's wonderful, Gomez, thank you." Morticia replied. She closed her eyes. "Ah, you have a real talent."

Gomez laughed and continued. "Do I now?" He asked.

Morticia took another bite of her toast. "Yes, you do."

"With what? The massage or the toast?" Gomez asked.

Morticia smirked and held up a piece of toast. "Would you like some?"

Gomez took a bite of the toast. "Not bad." He decided. Then, he used one hand and captured the one she held up.

Morticia raised her eyebrow. "Gomez?"

Gomez began to devour her fingers.

"Gomez…" Morticia set the food down.

He made his way up her arm and pulled her closer to him.

Morticia laughed. "Gomez, I thought you wanted me to eat."

"Yes, _you_ did. Now _I'm_ hungry." Gomez captured her lips and tongue for a passionate kiss.

Morticia wrapped her arms around Gomez's neck and pressed herself against him, going deeper into the kiss.

Gomez then slid his hand into Morticia's dress and groped her breast.

Morticia moaned and expertly removed Gomez's robe, tossing it to the side, barely drawing in breaths.

"Eres divina…" Gomez groaned.

"Oh, tu es divin…" Morticia's nails dug into the back of Gomez's neck as another song came on the radio, With or Without You by U2. "Tu es divin, mon amour."

Gomez then flipped her over, and she was propped up by the other end of the couch. He fisted her raven hair in his hands and looked deep into her dark eyes. "My black angel…" He growled.

"Mon beau diable…" Morticia purred.

Gomez lifted her nightgown up over her head and began to kiss her exposed arm, both of them panting, wanting, hungry.

Gomez kissed his way up to her shoulders, her neck and then her lips, soft as rose petals. He held her in his arms and made out with her, hard. He used his free hand and grabbed her ass. He listened to the groan which escaped her throat and traveled into his mouth.

Soon, his pants were removed and they were very grateful for this alone time together.

As Gomez's lips traveled down Morticia's exposed body, lithe and white as snow, all he could think of was her beauty, and her strength and how everything she did ignited a fire inside of him. His heart beat for this woman, he lived for her pleasure. As he removed his pants, all he could do was focus on her. Focus on her and how very much he adored her. As their foreplay and make-out session continued, all he could feel in his heart was an immense, burning passion. And when he entered her and heard that beautiful, orgasmic scream escape her throat and heard his name on her lips, well… it did not take him long to follow her on her journey off the face of the earth. He was forever in her debt, he risked everything to save her and she risked everything to come back for him. She was the one he adored, and the one he would continue to adore for all eternity. She was his amore, his life, his death and his oxygen. Like nobody else, he. Loved her.

It had been two hours, hours of lovemaking and dancing and catching up, and Morticia had explained the new counter-potion guidelines. Now, she was coming towards the end of her shower, this time, knowing for certain that Gomez waited for her on the other side of the door.

As she let the water run over her curvaceously lithe frame, she smiled, thinking of how it would be once they did enact the spell and they no longer would have to sneak around. It could be like it was, her taking just a bit too long in the hot shower just so Gomez would sneak up on her and get in there with her. Then, he would touch her and kiss her, holding her against the wall, hand behind her head so she wouldn't bang it while he used his free hand to pin her arms up above her head and steal her lips for a kiss. Oh, and those times where he would prop her up and lift her legs up over his shoulders so that he could hear those passionate cries leave her throat…

Morticia decided she had tortured her darling one long enough, and she shut off the water.

The bathroom on the second floor of the Addams mansion was large enough for one of Ophelia's parties. Its walls were white with silver, Victorian designs covering them. The floor was white porcelain, and the cupboards, double sink and jacuzzi bathtub were white and ivory marble. The shower stall was large, with a glass door. There was a soft, pristine bar of soap, looking so symmetrical, as if it had never been used. The lights were smart, and the room itself looked rather like it belonged at an expensive hotel. The white towels, too, appeared so clean, so unused, it made one slightly uneasy to set foot in the bathroom, let alone shower in there. The holder for the toilet paper was of pure gold, and there was even a bidet.

Morticia exited the shower, then, and pinned up her hair, always making sure to have a strand hanging down. She wrapped around her, a white towel -and how she despised it, for it had the initials, _O.A._ , embroidered in it. _O.A.?_ Two oddly similar vowels? _O.A.?_ It was not so much the name, Morticia knew. Rather, it was the beast behind the name. She grimaced. _O.A._

Morticia was not done wrapping the towel around her porcelain body even half a minute when Gomez walked in.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, embracing her from behind.

Morticia leaned into him and snaked her arm back, wrapping it around his neck. "I hate these towels, Gomez."

An intense passion burned in Gomez's eyes. "As do I, querida." He agreed with her, these towels were hideous. "As a matter of fact, we could just do without it." His voice was seductive, and he kissed her neck.

A coy grin played on Morticia's pale lips. "Mmm… now that's a suggestion I can get behind." She looked in the mirror. "Or before."

Gomez smirked. "Who said it was a suggestion?"

"We're back to pain means pleasure, I see."

"Did you really want it any other way?"

"Yes." Morticia's nails dug into his skin. "Both."

"Well, then, that's the way it shall be." Gomez replied. "I like both too."

Morticia pressed into him, intentionally right against his groin. "You had better."

Gomez began to breathe hard. "Suggestion, cara mia?" He inquired.

"No, an order." Morticia responded. "Now, kiss me."

Gomez did. As he craned his neck, and she turned her head, he kissed her, passionately. His tongue was in the only place it really belonged, which was dancing beside hers.

When the kiss broke, Gomez began to unwrap the towel from his dearest's body. And just before he could-

The door opened.

The lovers gulped.

There stood little Peter. "Father, what are you doing to Aunt Morticia?"

Gomez's eyes enlarged. "Well…" He thought for a moment. "She, was… we were… the towel, was, broken." He decided. "And she just had… no way of fixing it."

Morticia took not a moment to catch on. "It was… very broken."

"Yes. And I was… holding it, in place. For her." Gomez nodded, seemingly trying to convince himself.

"Yes." Morticia's nervous hands squeezed the _broken_ towel.

Peter paused. Then, he nodded, as if this did indeed seem like a logical excuse. "Darn, I hate it when that happens."

Morticia and Gomez could not believe this was working. They decided to push their luck.

"Don't tell your mother about this, Peter." Gomez said. "She'd be… terribly upset if she found out one of her towels were… broken."

Peter nodded. "Sure thing, father." He then turned to his aunt. "I hope you get the towel fixed." Then, he closed the door, and skipped off, not a care in the world.

Morticia locked the door, quickly and turned around in Gomez's arms. "It's going to be a long day, mon amour."

Gomez pulled her close against his chest. "I know, mi corazón."

Morticia leaned her head against his shoulder, and breathed in his strong, alluring scent mixed with a touch of cigar smoke. "Is she going to steal you away from me tonight?"

Gomez shook his head. "Of course not. I worship you, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Morticia replied.

"Come heaven or highwater, I will find a way to hold you until you fall asleep in my arms tonight, cara mia." Gomez assured her. He looked into her eyes, and it was written all over Morticia's usually stoic features that she wanted him to stay with her. "Mi amore… I would do anything for you. You say the word and I stay in this room."

How badly Morticia wanted to say the word. Actually, she wanted to say multiple words. _Darling, please stay with me._ She wanted to beg. _Please, I cannot stand seeing you with that awful woman._ But, she had to keep the end result in mind. The amorous pair had to let their plan go through, unhinged. "You had better go put on your wedding ring." She said.

Gomez nodded, understanding. "That is going to hurt like hell."

Morticia smiled, briefly.

"I'm glad that's amusing." Gomez chuckled.

"No." Morticia shook her head. "I don't care how awful this sounds, I would have died if you were happy without me."

"Tish, never, never, would I be anything but nothing without you." Gomez kissed her hand. "To live without you, only that… would be torture."

"A day alone…" Morticia sighed, in love. "Only that would be death."

Gomez looked into her black eyes. "Ti amo."

"Je t'aime."

Gomez then kissed her once more, full of a lust-filled, forbidden passion, and walked out of the bathroom.

The day continued on as unusual after that instance. Gomez and Morticia fought the urge to take the other in their arms, forget the universe and make each other moan in pleasure and ecstasy. In fact, they sort of made a game out of it. When one was near the other, they would do subtly everything in their power to seduce the other (Morticia had started it).

They played with the children together, and did things they actually liked. They taught Wendy and Peter how to properly set fire to a stick village, how to use a guillotine, and anything else that their mother had always forbade.

Although the children found their games strange, they kept quiet and smiled, having a great time. Why? Their father had not been happy in twenty years, and today, this bond between their father and their aunt, and them, this bizarre and morbid bond… felt almost, familial.

Everything was working well, although the lovers were not quite sure who was winning their game -perhaps that was the point? Wendy and Peter learned what their father an aunt did as children. But, then, of course, Mrs. Addams had to arrive home.

"Gomez!" Ophelia had four bags with her, as though she had been gone a month.

Morticia could not begin to imagine what her going away for a month looked like.

Gomez broke the sexual tension version of a staring contest with Morticia at the sound of Ophelia's voice.

"We're in the living room, Ophelia!" Gomez called.

Ophelia ran to Gomez and embraced him, knowing her sister was sitting on the couch, mere feet away. "Gomez, I'm so sorry that I walked out on you last night!"

Gomez had to say something, so he hugged her back. But what could he say? When Morticia came back, Gomez was complete. He was himself again. He didn't know how _not_ to be suave, and charming and charismatic. He did not know how to be a shell of himself when he knew he had his Tish. "You are?"

Ophelia cupped his cheeks and looked him in the eyes, roughly squeezing his face. "Of course, darling!" She kissed him.

Gomez noticed his wife's eyes close, and took this as an opportunity to stare at the end goal… his encantadora.

Morticia leaned back on the couch, and her dress slipped down slightly, exposing more of her cleavage.

Gomez held back a groan.

Ophelia broke the kiss with her husband. "I know it must have been so hard without me!" She smirked at her sister, who just sat there, coy as a black cat. "I just needed time to… think." She turned back to her husband. "You understand, don't you, dear?"

Gomez nodded. "Of course. Just as long as you're back in time for our anniversary."

There was a moment of somewhat confused hesitation for Ophelia. "Yes… yes, that-"

Ophelia was too busy concentrating on her rehearsed speech about how sorry she was. Guilty, guilty, sorry, sorry, love you, take me shopping, yadayadayada. She was too busy concentrating on this, to notice her husband… or perhaps, her lack thereof.

"Your hair…" She was speechless.

Gomez had completely forgotten. Old him had not slicked his hair back in twenty years. "What about it?" Gomez inquired.

"It looks so…" Ophelia eyed her stoic sister, evilly. "Good."

Morticia silently instructed the children to go upstairs for a while, and they silently obeyed. Then, she resumed watching her hopeless sister.

"Thank you." Gomez really did not know how to act around this woman. Present Gomez was not jaded from a lifeless marriage; present Gomez was awakened and sneaking around with his true love.

Ophelia kissed him again, running her fair hand over his slicked back hair, making both him and Morticia uncomfortable as all hell. "I can't wait to make up for lost time."

Gomez laughed, nervously. "Oh, I can."

Morticia raised an eyebrow, causing her amour's heart to beat out of his chest.

"Why?" Ophelia looked up at him, hands on his chest.

She wore a flowing, short, strapless, sunny yellow dress. With it, she wore white wedge heels. Her nails and jewelry were white, and her lips were pink.

"Why?" Gomez thought to himself. _I'm… tired? No. I have to take a shower? Dinner is ready? You disgust me?_ No, that last one probably would not go over too well. "It's just so late, Ophelia. We'll have all the time in the world on our anniversary, darling."

Ophelia nodded, not wanting to argue and also, knowing, deep down that everything was not as it should be. Her sister was too coy, her children were too quiet, Gomez was too… oh, dear.

"Of course, I understand, _dear._ " Ophelia said. "I'm awfully tired, I've had a very… trying day." She explained. "I'll see you tonight?"

Gomez would have to see her tonight, he knew. But he would be damned if he had sex with her, let alone hurt his querida. He would see her, but not all of her. Not ever again.

He shook his head up and down. "Yes, of course. You get some rest." He then kissed her cheek and waited for her to leave the room and ascend the stairs.

Gomez looked over at Morticia, who was smirking, knowing all the while Ophelia was talking, all Gomez could think about was his reason to breathe.

"Sono stato convincente?" Gomez inquired, hoping that he was, indeed, convincing.

"Très convaincant." Morticia responded, semi-sarcastically.

A bottle of **rosé** smashed against the wall of Jeeves' bedroom that night, shattering and careening to the floor in shards.

 _Are you fucking kidding me?"_ Ophelia's mascara was smudged and all she wore was a white nightgown that looked more like lingerie.

"I tried to report as much as I could, Mrs. Addams- _ah!_ " Jeeves ducked as Ophelia sent a bottle flying towards his head.

" _That bitch_ destroyed what I have spent hard _work,_ hard _time_ building!" Ophelia spat.

"I _understand,_ Madame but if you could please put the bottles down- _oh, dear God!_ " There came another, this time leaving a cut in Jeeves' ear.

" _Put the bottles down? Put the bottles down?_ _I'll show you_ putting the bottles down, you good-for-nothing, _lousy excuse for a butler!_ " Ophelia threw another, and it smashed his mirror.

"Mrs. Addams, please, please, I did all that you asked of me!" Jeeves never looked more scared. He was not too keen on dying this night.

"No, you didn't!" Ophelia took a huge sip of her wine. "If you _did,_ _I_ wouldn't have to figure out a way to keep the life I have right now! I wouldn't have to fight for it! You obviously didn't look very closely, _you British bastard!_ If you did, _I_ wouldn't be in this situation!" Mrs. Addams threw her fifth finished bottle.

Jeeves' room was in ruins. Shards of glass lie about the floor, and his bedsheets were in disarray from when he tried to run away from Ophelia, whom was in a complete drunken rage.

"I can help, Mrs. Addams!"

 _Help? Ha!"_ Ophelia ran a hand through her blonde curls. " _Help?_ How the _hell_ could you help me now?" She opened another bottle.

"Please sit down, Madame. I've seen things tonight." Jeeves said. "I have a few suggestions."

Ophelia took a deep breath. _"You should be keeling at my feet right now and begging me not to fire your ass."_

"And if I didn't have that little arthritis problem, I would, Mrs. Addams." Jeeves appealed to her.

Ophelia sat on Jeeves' chair in the corner of the room. "What do you know?"

Jeeves carefully yet dangerously took the bottle from her, as if he were in the middle of the woods, poking a bear with a stick and seeing if it would snap, but hoping that it wouldn't. "Gomez was not wearing his wedding ring until a couple short hours before you came home."

"That's it?" Unimpressed, Ophelia stood up but Jeeves gestured for her to sit back down.

"Wait!" Jeeves continued. "Gomez knows. He remembers."

"That's impossible." Ophelia enacted Sensus Inversus. Gomez drank the potion. He couldn't just… remember. People didn't do that sort of thing! Or, this sort of thing but that was besides the point!

"No." Jeeves loosened his collar. It was suddenly very hot, he had to calm himself down. "It isn't."

"Gomez can't remember, Jeeves. Only Morticia knows, she didn't drink the potion. _Gomez did._ " Ophelia explained. "There is _no way in hell_ that he could possibly. Ever- _goddammit!_ " She then remembered. She remembered the fuckup. The page that had been skipped in that godforsaken spell book. That had to be the reason why Gomez remembered. It couldn't be anything else. Ophelia refused to believe it was because their love could survive through everything. She refused to believe it was because they adored one another so completely, that being apart simply was not an option. No. Like everything else in Ophelia's mind, this had to do with her.

"What is it, Mrs. Addams? I can-" Jeeves shut up when Ophelia held up a commanding hand.

Ophelia stood, then began to pace around the room. "I knew it. _I knew it._ " Ophelia was ready to tear her hair out. "I fucking knew it, goddamit all, I fucking knew it!" She breathed, heavily. "Alright, alright, we have to think, damn it, this _cannot_ all be for nothing!"

Jeeves now stood before his mistress. "Mrs. Addams, I believe I may be of some more assistance." He offered.

Ophelia scoffed.

"Really."

"Alright." Ophelia nodded. "What do you have?"

"Advice."

"Advice?"

Jeeves nodded. "Do whatever you must do, but do it soon. _Very soon._ I am sworn to secrecy as long as I am also sworn to a job. Kill her, screw him, it doesn't matter to me. But do it quick, because you, Mrs. Addams, are running out of time."

Ophelia pondered this, then got a sadistic gleam in her sparkling blue eyes. "October 13th."

"What?" Jeeves appeared confused.

"Their anniversary…" Ophelia paused. _"My,"_ she sneered. "anniversary, is in two days…" She snatched the wine from her butler's hands and took a sip. Then, she began to laugh. "My anniversary is in two days!"

Jeeves gulped, afraid. "It is."

 _It is."_ Ophelia gasped, seeming and feeling slightly lighter. "Yes, it is." She walked toward her butler's door, ready to leave.

"Mrs. Addams?" A confused Jeeves called to her.

Ophelia turned. "Yes, Jeeves?"

"What is going on?"

"I know what I have to do." The words came out of the mistress of the Sensus Inversus Addams mansion in a barely audible whisper.

Jeeves took of his tie. "Pardon?"

Ophelia then looked straight into her servant's eyes. And she spoke with such conviction, such bitter rage for her sister, such readiness. "I know what I have to do."

It was now midnight. Everyone was inside, asleep in their beds. The children, for once, truly happy. Ophelia, forever, truly angry. And Jeeves, for now, truly loyal.

The only ones who were not yet asleep, were Gomez and the gothic enchantress that he was proud to call his.

Gomez held Morticia in his arms on the front porch, lying in the brown hammock that was mainly for decoration until tonight. He had been holding her for the past hour now, showering her in affection and keeping her safe and warm in his strong, tight embrace. For the past two minutes now, he had been singing to her and stroking her hair while she hummed the tune to their song as he sang.

"Softly lie and whisper… goodbye sweet sanity. Goodbye sweet sanity."

Morticia hummed the last bar of the song and opened her eyes, briefly, getting quite comfortable. "Well, impaired judgement you was right about one thing, these _are_ amusing."

Gomez pushed her hair off of her shoulder, exposing her beautiful neck. He kissed it. "I must admit, I never found joy in one of these hammocks until I was able to hold you in my arms while on one."

Morticia yawned, snuggling up against him. "I don't ever feel as safe as I do with you, out in the open than I do, by myself, in that house."

"Morticia, my only, I promise, you are _not_ alone in that house." Gomez said.

Morticia was growing increasingly tired. "Je t'aime, mon cher." She said, stifling another yawn.

Gomez gently rubbed her back. "I love you too, cara mia."

Gomez held her, humming a few other songs that he knew she liked, unable to not shower her in undying attention and kisses as he did.

He waited, never growing impatient as she drifted off to sleep, knowing he would need to carry her inside before anyone became too suspicious, in case they were up.

Gomez Addams would protect his dark goddess with everything he had and everything he was. He would forever do whatever it took to keep her safe. He would lie down his life for her without a moment's hesitation, that was obvious. And yet, he felt a bad gut feeling. It was worse than before, when he knew they should not have been traveling to Ophelia's. It was worse than many of his others. Perhaps his gut feeling -and his gut feelings were so very seldom wrong- was not a feeling at all. Perhaps, it was a warning from his heart and his brain, which were finally working together. A warning, preluding what was to come, preluding that rather than a bed for the passionate, there may be blood.

And Gomez was unsure if it was the kind of blood he would like to see.


	19. aVENGEFUL

Ms. Frump awoke to -unlike so many days before- her curtains drawn. She would oft forget to draw her curtains before she fell into a slumber, and would, in turn, awake to the sun's infernal rays burning her pale, photosensitive skin.

But, she awoke, not only to her curtains drawn, but in a nightgown. She did not remember putting on her nightclothes last night, nor drawing her curtains. Upon further inspection from Morticia's adjusting, black, upturned eyes, she realized her pillows were arranged, comfortably behind her head and her blanket was pulled up, as it had been an unusually cold night last night.

Stranger, still, to the average person, was that she remembered not, even walking into her bedroom. However, Morticia was not the average person. She had a speculation as to who was behind her waking up like this. But not matter how comfortable, it was nothing without him next to her this morning… the morning of October 13th.

Morticia stretched, with the elegance of a beautiful black swan, and looked to her right, was a medium-sized, mahogany nightstand that she did not remember being there before. On the nightstand, was blood tea and toast with newts' eyes atop it and a sprinkle of cyanide. Next to the set of food was a white piece of paper (of a card-like material), folded hamburger-style. Written in script on the front of it was this:

 _Happy Anniversary, Cara Mia._

Morticia knew her suspicions were confirmed, it was Gomez that had brought her in and set all of this up. She sat up in bed, and gracefully lifted the handmade card off if the table. She then unfolded it, and began to read.

 _My darling Tish,_

 _You will never know the full extent of how guilty I feel that I cannot be with you this morning. My desire to see you, to hold you in my arms is stronger than a hurricane, querida. You must know that I went upstairs to check on you at least five times last night. I kissed you and held your hand while you slept. I stayed there for as long as I could until I knew Jeeves or Ophelia would become suspicious. Whilst you slept, from what I could see and hear, I heard my name on your lips. It took every ounce of my willpower not to wake you and make love to you right then and there, my dearest. Also, that really was quite the boost for my ego, thank you, darling._

Morticia laughed, then she continued to read.

 _It was I who carried you into the guestroom last night. I drew those curtains for you, wishing to prevent that horrendous sun's rays from bombarding you in any way that I could. I made your breakfast; but I must admit, my culinary skills are not exactly royal cuisine. I believe you've eaten more toast in these past two days than you had in your life. I tried to arrange it as appetizingly as possible. I have big plans for us this evening, mi amore. That lovely restaurant that you love so much is where I plan on taking you tonight. This time, my dearest, I am going to steal those luscious lips for a kiss every chance I get, and we are going to dance until we cannot dance anymore. Lastly, mi amore de mi vida -as I am running out of room on this blasted paper- know that I could fill up an entire history book of my feelings for you, and it still would not be enough paper to write everything I worship you for. You not only have the most wonderful, dark golden heart, but you are very intelligent. And, somehow, you grow more enchanting with each passing day. And my entire being falls more in love with you with every tick of the clock. My passion for you, I can promise, will never die. I swear, my black angel, we will still be breaking the bedpost at ninety-six._

 _P.S. I'll be waiting in the second floor living room at 8:00 sharp. We'll take the truck. Unlike pastels, some people (meaning you) have a wonderfully macabre sense of beauty. Happy Anniversary, and I promise you that I'll make up for lost time so much that you'll still be sore when we go back in time. I love you, my darling, with all my heart and soul._

 _-With all of my love and adoration,_

 _Gomez._

"Merci, mon amour…" Morticia's lips curled into a Mona Lisa smile as she reread the note a hundred times over whilst she ate her breakfast.

She was more grateful than words could express for him, for the multitude of ways that he loved her. He treated her like a goddess, and no sacrifice was too grand to satisfy her. He meant everything he said about her. Morticia was his world, his everything. Everything he did -while he was full of morbid spontaneity- always had to run through a mental fact check system in his mind, and the only thing that ever always had to be answered was this: How will this affect my Tish?

Gomez was indeed his own man, but he was also a slave for his everything. She was the center of his universe, and without her, he would not have one. It would be like the center of the earth exploding, for Gomez. Neither the earth, nor he could function without their centers.

He was completely alright with that, because over his decaying corpse would anyone harm that woman and get away with it, let alone harm her at all. His soul was indeed bonded with hers, and if he lost her, life would not only be worthless living, he would be incapable of living.

And, while Gomez was very vocal and spontaneous, Morticia never let her lover forget that she felt the exact same way about him. She loved him with everything she was, and that was fact. Their differences complimented one another, and their similarities were vast in number. The pair were quite literally made for each other.

Morticia was nearly finished with breakfast, her eyes having hardly left the note since she discovered it.

"Happy Anniversary!" Charles shouted.

Morticia looked up and over to her right, to notice her father standing beside her bed. "Thank you, father."

Charles observed the plate of food on Morticia's lap. "He made you breakfast in bed?" He beamed with pride. "God, I wish I was still alive. I like this boy."

"Father, we try to séance you." Morticia defended. "You've met him before."

"I know that." Charles responded. "Just because I'm old doesn't mean I'm senile." He continued. "I never really get to be there and see him in action! Any man who treats my daughter like this is a man I like."

"Well, I'm glad you like him, father."

Charles gestured to the unfolded note in Morticia's hands. "What's that?"

Morticia held up the note. "He wrote me an anniversary note." She sighed, happily at how hard Gomez tried to make her feel better for him not being with her. "Since he can't be here this morning, he did all of this."

Charles looked about the neat room, then at the curtains, knowing how her photosensitivity acted up. He hesitated not a moment when he said this, "Alright, darling, this boy is officially my son."

Morticia raised her eyebrow. "Perhaps you should tell _him_ this, the next time we séance you."

"Perhaps. Hey, who were his parents, again?" Charles inquired. "I feel like you told me before but I don't remember."

"Contradictory to your previous statement." Morticia joked, in reference to her father stating that in fact, he was _not_ senile and now forgetting both earlier bits of conversations and his prior claim. "Their names are Rosemary E. and Alistair D. Addams."

Charles nodded. "Do you think they'd like to come to my grave sometime and play bridge?"

Morticia seemed to ponder this. "Well, they're buried in the cemetery in our backyard." She said. "You could always drop by and visit. Our credo is carved in their stone, it's the large one with the couple riding horses." She used graceful hand gestures to help her father visualize. "Rosemary was especially good at cooking. She taught me quite a few recipes." Morticia reminisced. "Actually, we became quite close. How I wish the children could have known she and Alistair better. They died much too soon." She said, then, "You already have one thing in common with them.

Charles embraced his daughter. "No, you're right. It wasn't my time. But, I could not be more proud of you." Then, as he embraced his daughter that sunny October morning, he stole a piece of her toast. "And thank you for this." He smirked.

 _Father."_ Morticia scolded.

"What?" Charles asked, mouth full of toast. "This is the best toast I've had since I died!"

Morticia finished what she had left of her breakfast and took a sip of her tea. "I have until midnight tonight, correct?"

"Yes. To drink the potion. Once that clock strikes midnight… you can either go back or kiss the old reality goodbye." Charles reminded her.

Morticia shook her head, in understanding. "Thank you, father. For everything."

Charles kissed her forehead. "Get dressed. You're going to have a long night ahead of you."

It was now 5:00 pm, and Gomez was having a very hard time trying to remember how he used to behave. All the while he was with Ophelia, he was unable to think of much other than his beautiful Morticia. He hated, _hated,_ being in Ophelia's general vicinity. She had tried to take everything from him, and she still had two things, that Gomez was proud of, loved and adored: his marriage, and his children.

Gomez had kept the end result in his mind, as he told himself to do, as did Morticia. Visions of the night's upcoming activities filled his head.

His conscience of course, existed still, as a conscience did exist for every person. However, it never yelled at him that he said the wrong thing or that he should not be with the mesmerizing black goddess back at the mansion, now. Now, it was completely submissive to Morticia; now, it, too, was completely captivated by her.

However, as Gomez's conscience slowly became one with him again, it also had a hatred for Ophelia (or _pastels,_ as became her secret -albeit condescending- nickname). It wanted to help Gomez succeed in his plan to get back to his true bride, but it also wanted him to murder the vindictive blonde before him.

"Gomez," Ophelia wore a short high-low dress. The dress was silky and ivory, with lace, canary yellow trim. It was lowcut in a square neck and had long, flowy, dramatic cutout sleeves. From the waist up, the dress had designs that matched the colour of her dress's trim. She wore ivory, satin, three-inch high heels with ankle straps and dangling, white diamond earrings with a matching bracelet. Her eye makeup was obvious, and expertly put on but mostly natural. Her lips were rose petal pink, and her nails were painted white. "What are you ordering for dinner?"

Gomez had taken her where he had taken her every anniversary for the past twenty years now. It was a large, lifeless restaurant with a white and ivory porcelain tile floor. Engraved in the tile floor, were different, vibrant, colourful flower designs. The walls matched the ivory colour of Ophelia's dress, and there were at least two pink stained-glass windows on every wall. The tables were rectangular with white tablecloths and floral napkins. The lightbulbs coming off of the miniature chandeliers at each table were expensively handcrafted to look like flowers. All in all, the place looked like the embodiment of everything a twelve-year-old Ophelia wanted to be and it was making Gomez physically ill.

He dressed like his wife's polar opposite. He wore black suit pants, and a black suit vest with dark burgundy, swirled, Victorian gothic designs. His formal undershirt was dark burgundy and long sleeved. Gomez had on a black tie and black dress shoes. His wedding ring was on, but his hair was slicked back, as it had been since his memory had returned.

"Well, you know…" Gomez tried to think. _No, genius, she doesn't know! Are you telling me that in your semi-real twenty years as her husband, you never once ordered the same thing from this place? What the hell is this place even called, anyways?_ ** _Glass Gardens._** _That doesn't make any sense._ ** _Do you think I don't know that?_** _I miss Morticia._ ** _I know, so do I._** _You do realize that we occupy the same residence in your body, right?_ ** _Yes, I know._** _I want to go home._ ** _You. Are. A child!_** _Well, that was condescending._ ** _I have to answer this godforsaken question!_** _Can't you just kill her?_ ** _No! Are you going to tell me how to answer this question or not?_** _Yes, yes, stop whining. Pick a food, damn it. The sooner we order the sooner we can get back to our black angel._ ** _Alright._** "Squid." He decided.

"Is that all you eat?" Ophelia questioned, half-teasing.

"No." Gomez replied. "In fact, why don't I just order steak?" _Good. But sound more pathetic._ ** _Excuse me-_** _You know what I mean! Your nothing without Morticia._ ** _I know, but I have her back now._** _Alright. Think of your enchanting, beautiful Tish._ ** _Alright._** _Alright. Now picture her dead._ ** _What?_** _I mean in the sense that you'd lose yourself. Right? Be passionless. Stop being yourself._

"Perhaps you should." Ophelia tired to hide the suspicion and cunning in her voice. She had big plans for him. "So why did you get up so much last night?" Ophelia put a hand in the middle of a table for Gomez to take.

Gomez nearly spat out his thousand-dollar wine. "What?" _Nice going, old man._ His mind was now resorting to sarcasm.

"You got out of bed a lot last night." Ophelia sounded saddened. "Almost like you didn't want to sleep with me."

 _That's because I didn't._ ** _Will you be quiet?_** "No, dear, I was reading." He decided, coming up with an excuse on the fly.

"Reading? What were you reading?" Ophelia inquired, not that she really cared all that much.

Gomez's thoughts again wandered to Morticia. She was so mysteriously enchanting- "The Raven." He replied.

"You were reading _that_ depressing thing on the night of our anniversary?"

"Yes." Gomez stated. "The Raven, it's a marvelous read." _A marvelous read? Gomez… I…_ His conscience was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Now wouldn't that make for an interesting take on the human mind? _What time is it?_ ** _It's 5:15._** _That's it? How about we leave early? I can't._ ** _I am taking Tish out for our anniversary tonight if I have to learn how to grow wings and fly there. And we have to leave at 8:00._** _I miss her. And her hips. Oh, God! This is agony!_ ** _Pull yourself together! If you break down, there's no hope for me._**

"Uh huh. _Right._ " Ophelia sighed. "Why did you change your hair?"

"I thought it time for a change." Gomez replied, thinking himself quite the sly one, slipping an undetected truth into his answer.

"Yes, well, it will be." Ophelia smirked. She could play this game, too.

"Pardon?"

"Well- oh, look, dear, it's the waiter!" Ophelia had flagged down the waiter, signaling that she and her husband were ready to order.

It had been nearly three, torturous hours of making awkward small talk with a woman he despised, keeping himself and his mind at bay, and trying not to vomit at the sight of the restaurant. That, Gomez sighed, had been his life for an alternate twenty years. It _could_ have been his true life, his old reality, non-Sensus Inversus life had his querida not rescued him. And that, was another reason why his heart was a shrine to that woman.

He was beyond happy when at 7:30, finally, he was able to begin the drive home. He would have run inside, had, for some odd reason, Ophelia not fallen asleep in the Tesla.

Sighing, Gomez lifted the one-hundred-thirty-pound woman and carried her into the house. He looked up at the darkening night sky, and fortunately, it was going to rain.

And rain soon.

7:55.

Gomez had but five minutes to get to the second floor living room… to get to Morticia.

It was not hard at all to carry the lightweight Ophelia up the stairs. Who knew she was such a heavy sleeper? The door slammed shut behind him, and Ophelia merely flinched. The only time the hallways were ever dark, Gomez noticed as he ascended the steep stairs to get to the fifth floor, was at night. It was as if the house clung to any excuse to still have some morbid element, as it too, reminisced and yearned for the macabre, forgotten past. No matter how many times it was repainted, redecorated, what the house truly was and had always strived to be, could never be finished off or destroyed.

 _This hallway…_ Gomez grimaced as he walked down the third-floor hallway. Morose, it was, when the true mistress of the Addams' mansion had moved in as Mrs. Addams. The historic, old walls did used to be dark in colour, that was indeed fact. However, darkness was not truly a colour. Darkness was an emotion, a feeling, a characteristic or a way of life. The house, true, probably hated the pastels that lined their once gloomy hallways now, but what it truly hated was Ophelia. Ophelia, who brought in her bright ideas and her Rolex watches. The house hated her because she had tried to make it her own house. She tried to make it her own, and she never even deserved to live there.

Gomez had reached the fifth floor, and in turn, the master bedroom. He opened the light-coloured door and entered what he could not believe he let Ophelia do to the bedroom… his bedroom… his and his precious Tish's bedroom. He looked at the offputtingly coloured bedsheets, with the white in that room. It was horrible.

Morticia had moved into that house whilst it already had its ghoulish allure. She had been carried up the stairs in her amour's muscled arms, and into their bedroom. But that master bedroom had been unused. His own parents had always slept a floor or two below it. However, when Gomez had carried her from the ballroom to that master bedroom, with its deep purple, gothic wallpaper, black ceiling and black, porcelain floor, and he looked into Morticia's eyes and how in perfect bliss she looked when he lied her on that grand bed, atop those silk and satin sheets... well, when she said _yes_ to his marriage proposal, he promised her that bedroom would one day be theirs. And he had seen through with that promise. He had so many beautifully unhappy memories in that room. The pain, the darkness, the love, the passion… this counter potion had to work. He would be damned if he let his marriage and his children get taken, and his house. His deceased parents had to be made proud, and if they could see the house now, they would be anything but.

He lied Ophelia on the bed, the bed that was obviously much different than his old one. Gomez was disgusted, and he could not help but partially blame himself for the hurt that his amore had suffered this past month. He did not care if it was Ophelia and Sensus Inversus that had caused all of this… Gomez had allowed her to do this to his house, his bedroom. Then, he allowed her the power over him to resist his reason for living. No wonder he had been dead, she was his oxygen. And one did indeed need oxygen to live.

Gomez shut the door behind him as he walked out of the master bedroom. He walked down the hall, then down three flights of stairs. And yes, the stairs even held memories for him. He would hold his darling querida in his arms while the children chased each other down the stairs with their steak knives or machetes. It did not matter who was around, he would show his love for his darling one in front of the president, for all he cared! Máma in the hallway, Lurch by the door, it didn't matter. He would get her against the wall, roughly and sensually pin her arms above her head, and devour her whole. And it was alright, it was allowed, it was their normal. They were married because of their all-encompassing, immense love for one another. Both were poised in the way that they walked, oozing confidence.

 _However -a perfect example, really- they had been lost in each other, lips, locked and tongues, tangled, walking as they were, not a care in the world… right near the stairs. They took a slight tumble and ended up in quite the_ _compromising position. Gomez was on top of her, hands behind her head to make sure she was alright. Their breathing stabilized and they laughed it off. But Gomez had other ideas. He gently pushed a strand of hair out of the way and kissed her. They were still on the stairs when Morticia grabbed him and it turned into a full-on make-out session. Máma simply walked by and shook her head. But, the lovers did not notice nor would they care too much if they did._

Gomez missed that, he was thinking to himself as he reached the doors of the second floor living room. He missed when he could lose control and just start necking with his only, without worrying his wife would find out because she _was_ his wife. This counter potion they were to make later had to work. It had to.

It was almost pitch black. Every one of the lights were off when Gomez entered the living room; but a single candle was the only source of light. It was now heavily raining outside, the torrential downpour in effect that night, looking slightly picturesque (at least to Gomez and his querida) and the grand curtains were drawn. The curtains were never drawn in a storm.

She was here.

Gomez crept about the room. _"Tish?"_ He whispered.

Just then, the light source moved.

Gomez walked closer to the candle, seeing as now there was a figure -a gorgeous one at that- holding the candle, her beautiful face, illuminated by the small flame.

"I missed you, my dearest."

Morticia smiled. "Are we leaving now?"

Gomez nodded, extending his arm to her. "Come, cara mia."

Morticia set down the candle and allowed Gomez to lead her out of the living room. Unable to physically show their devotion quite yet, the lovers' hearts were set on a mission.

1\. Leave the house. Make sure we have a coverup.

2\. Celebrate.

3\. Come back to the house.

4\. Make the potion.

5\. Drink the potion.

6\. Leave Sensus Inversus.

However, this mission was being conducted much more like a high-risk heist or sting operation. They had to tell Jeeves they were leaving, but lie about where they were going. They had to be back by 11:00, wake the children by 11:30, have the potion made by 11:45 and be at home, in their real home, by what would be midnight. Nothing. Could be left. To chance.

Morticia made sure her cloak was buttoned, and Gomez dawned his black trench coat.

"Are you ready, querida?" Gomez asked.

Morticia nodded, giving him the go ahead to create a coverup.

"Jeeves!" Gomez called, and just in time, as Jeeves was flying down the stairs, still in his daywear.

"Mr. Addams, where are you going?" Jeeves questioned.

"Jeeves, go upstairs and make Mrs. Addams comfortable." Gomez ordered.

"What-"

"Madame Frump and I are running a few errands." Gomez explained. "Make her a cup of tea."

Jeeves looked like a deer in headlights. "But, Mr. Addams- "

"Goodbye, Jeeves." With that, Gomez and Morticia exited the house, and walked to the garage, leaving Jeeves standing alone, door having been shut in his face.

Jeeves exhaled, deeply, slumping. "Oh, dear."

 _Madame Frump?"_ Morticia questioned Gomez's name choice as they unlocked the Silverado, under the cover of the night, and the garage.

The garage was large for only having to house but one car. However, _pastels_ had gone to great lengths to hide the -what she deemed- hideous truck. Not only was it the least classy car, in her opinion, it was black. And the last thing she needed was to lay eyes upon really the only colour her sister ever wore, every time she left the house.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Gomez asked as he helped Morticia into the car, finding any excuse to touch her right now that would not be conspicuous (despite there assuredly being alone).

He then got into the truck himself, tracking in no water onto the black, leather seats.

"No, darling. Not at all." Morticia closed her door and looked at her amour, whom was breathing heavily. "Are you alright, _Mr. Addams?_ " She asked, coyly.

Gomez shook his head and removed her hood. "Not yet."

Morticia's heart beat in time with her husband's, as she waited, eager for him to touch her.

Gomez cupped her porcelain cheek in his hand, and Morticia leaned back against the window as she was kissed, passionately.

Gomez briefly broke the spellbinding kiss. "Ah, happy anniversary, cara mia." He let his roaming lips travel up her willing arm.

"Mmm… happy anniversary, mon cher." Morticia purred.

"I missed you terribly, mi encantadora." Gomez said.

"I read your letter one hundred times, my ecstasy." Morticia said as Gomez sucked on her neck.

"Now how am I supposed to drive when all I can concentrate on is you?" Gomez wondered and kissed her lips.

"Would you rather take me on the floor or in the car?"

"I'd take you anywhere." Gomez growled. "But, we have only a couple of hours."

"And if Jeeves came outside…" Morticia worried.

"Well, we're going where neither Jeeves nor Ophelia would be caught dead."

"What a pity." Morticia said, darkly.

Gomez started the car and began to pull out of the garage. "I adore that sense of humour."

"Humour?" Morticia raised an eyebrow.

Gomez took her hand and briefly looked down at her long legs as he drove down the road to Midnight Music. "I need that leg up over my shoulder."

Morticia's eyes narrowed, seductively. "I need that shoulder down under my leg."

Gomez groaned. "Pretty soon its going to be both legs."

Morticia leaned back in her seat and squeezed Gomez's hand. "Happy anniversary, mon sauvage."

Gomez held Morticia, passionately in his arms as they danced. He held her close, arms around her waist, occasionally sliding lower. One of Morticia's hands rested on his right shoulder while the other rested on his chest.

Dead (an instrumental), played as the lovers danced, each other's eyes the only thing they could see.

"My darling, you're breathtaking." Gomez said.

"Je t'aime, mon diable." Morticia gazed into his adoring eyes while he kissed her hand. She wore the darkest black gown. It was tight at the waist, and flowed out, for leg room. There was a slit in the side up to her midthigh. The gown was cut in a deep V-neck, and long sleeved. Attached to the gown was a black corset, with dark burgundy designs covering it that matched Gomez's vest. The corset tied with black laces in the back, and had a slight amount of black, lace trim. Her tights were black, and her black, gothic high heels were three inches high. She wore dangling, black diamond earrings and a large, silver ring on her middle finger with a black cross in the center.

Gomez spun her, slowly. "Cara mia…"

"Mon cher…" Morticia was in heaven, happy that she and Gomez could pick up right where they left off.

They waltzed together, slow danced, and Gomez let his lips meet hers whenever he got the chance. Her hand was lifted to his mouth and his hot touch sent a rush through Morticia's ice cold body.

They remembered how it was before everything, and here, at Midnight Music where nobody knew them, it could be the same. They could openly show their adoration for one another without a second thought. They could make the world disappear here. They could stare into one another's eyes, holding each other close and whispering those loving, beautiful words whether they be in English or some other language.

And when the violins sped up, Morticia thanked the gods that Gomez had his memories back; as they were finally able to tango, properly.

The floor seemed to clear of people, and the ones who were eating stopped doing so to watch the intriguing couple. The people at Midnight Music, while not dressed like Gomez or his beloved, seemed to accept them with open arms. That was one of the reasons Morticia loved this place so. These people, even the waiters, treated them as equals, like they were important. They weren't out casted here. While acceptance was something they need not crave, nor did they, it was easier when they were, macabre style, P.D.A. and all.

Morticia and Gomez had only eyes for each other as the dance started. Gomez took Morticia's delicate hand, and kissed her, with a fiery passion, up her arm and down the other. She held up a hand, gracefully when he reached her shoulder, and they were off. She spun in his arms and their legs moved together perfectly. They used up all of the space they had, not even noticing that they had an audience until Gomez took the black, thorny rose off of the table. Between his teeth, it stayed while the couple danced. Gomez, just before the climax of their erotic tango, squeezed Morticia's thigh.

"Si prega…" Gomez pleaded.

Morticia knew exactly what she meant. "Oui." Morticia replied, saucily.

Gomez held her tight and their audience gasped as Morticia's leg was draped over Gomez's shoulder.

Gomez gazed into her eyes, she was enchanting.

This was what he lived for, besides his dearest Tish. He adored moments like this, where he was so intimidated, yet so in control at the same time. These moves came so naturally to the two of them, and they were indeed, unrehearsed. One would not believe that the first time they ever danced, Morticia felt safe enough in his embrace to lift her leg, up over his shoulder, and entrust him not to hurt her. He never did, not once, and he never would. Was it high risk? For untrained nonprofessionals, yes. However, just because their dances were unrehearsed did not mean they were unprepared. They were both very emotionally driven, emotionally charged souls. And their one deep passion was for each other, so they danced together at every opportunity that they got.

Morticia's leg then elegantly came off of Gomez's shoulder and the rose fell out of his mouth. Morticia's hips dramatically and sensually moved side to side and every man -and some women- there was transported. Gomez noticed the stares she was getting just as the dance came to an end. The violins held out the last notes, and Gomez, needing to taste the crimson lips of his gothic temptress, dipped her and moved in for their most passionate kiss yet.

Every day, they fell more in love with each other, and as a result, every day, their kisses grew more passionate, no matter what reality they were in.

The waiters and customers alike all stood up in ovation, cheering, clapping and toasting to the passionate pair.

It was likely, though, that they noticed their applause, not. The infatuated couple were too enthralled with the other's touch that they only went in deeper. This lasted for about two minutes, and things began to get a bit too heated for the waiters and waitresses' liking.

"Ah-hem." A waiter cleared his throat.

Morticia looked up. "Mmm. Gomez, I think they want their floor back."

Gomez looked up, then. "Who?" He asked, lost.

"What?" Morticia, too, was on a mental and physical trip and momentarily forgotten her surroundings.

"Hi, over-over here." The waiter waved, not too annoyed, just patiently waiting. Patiently and awkwardly, that is.

Morticia and her amour looked over at the man, then, and stood up to their full height.

Arm around his wife's waist, Gomez lead her back to their table. Across the circular table, Gomez kissed her hand. "God, those hips…"

Morticia looked away, briefly, in her form of blushing. "Gomez." She looked back at him. "It felt so good to be able to do that again, mon cher."

"Cara mia, we'll do it as often as you like when we get back." Gomez began to devour her fingers.

Morticia had completely forgotten what she was going to say as Gomez worked his way to her inner wrist.

Gomez groaned. "Is there a back room I can take you in in this restaurant?"

"No, but like you said…" A seductive grin appeared on Morticia's face. "You could take me anywhere."

"That I could, my dearest." Gomez squeezed her hand. "And I meant it."

"Would you excuse me, mon amour? I have to use the ladies' room."

Gomez nodded and pulled out her chair for her.

"Merci, mon coeur." Morticia smirked.

"Oh, Tish…" Gomez kissed her hand.

"Je t'aime." Morticia was about to walk away but Gomez grabbed her from behind and turned her around. "I'm assuming I'm forgetting something?"

Gomez bit his lip. "Come here." He held out his arms.

Morticia stayed put, just to torture him a bit. "What do I get if I do?"

"There's only one way to find out, querida." Gomez smirked. "Come here."

"Well, I-" Before she could say more, Gomez grabbed her and kissed her. " _Now,_ you're not forgetting anything."

"Do I have your permission to leave, Mr. Addams?" Morticia teased.

"Yes." Gomez pulled out a cigar to smoke.

"I see." Morticia narrowed her eyes. "Well, you're going to be lucky soon if you have _my_ permission to stand up straight."

Gomez growled, hungrily and sat at the table with his cigar.

Morticia winked at her reason, then, and was off to the ladies' room, figuring she would be back shortly, ready to be captured and devoured by her fervent lover.

Oh, how wrong she was.

Morticia eyed her makeup in the mirror, making sure that it needed no more reapplying as she dried her hands. Odd… the bathroom was eerily silent. And empty.

Perhaps, however, it was due to the massive size. The walls were ivory and deep plum, and the floor was white porcelain tile. The automatic sinks were black marble, as were the six bathroom stalls. There was an elegant Queen Anne couch in the corner of the room, as well as a wide, full length mirror and small, black table near the door.

Morticia began to hum, The Fire in the Grave by Rose Macabre, to check if she was truly alone.

She was.

She used one of the black towels and began drying her hands, singing aloud to herself.

 _The fire in the grave conceals, the fire in your eyes. Meets the fire in your heart, and I'm left wondering why I'm still-"_ She froze. She could have sworn the door just swung open. But she had to be wrong, she saw no one there. _"Alone, crying in the dark. And as my blood fades to blackness, and contempt does fill the silence of your nameless name on my lips, I fade-"_ Her eyes enlarged. She gasped.

"Miss me, bitch?" Ophelia asked and grabbed her from behind.

Before Morticia had time to flinch, a black towel was pressed to her face. On that towel, happened to be chloroform. And Morticia Frump, happened to black out.

Ophelia tossed the towel in the trash, not realizing how heavy dead weight of her taller, five pounds heavier sister would be. _"Fuck!"_ She whisper-yelled. "Alright. Where the hell is that…" Ophelia looked around, and then found what she was looking for. She held her unconscious sister by the waist and slung her limp arm over her shoulder. "Alright." She exhaled, deeply. She stuck a pair of dark sunglasses on Morticia. Then, she took a big, wide-brimmed, floppy, black hat and plopped it on her sister's head.

"There we are." Ophelia was quite damp from the torrential downpour outside, and thanks to her plan (which she blamed her sister for even having to make), her curly hair was knotting slightly, at the bottom.

Looking as conspicuous as a murder suspect caught with a kitchen knife (and that crimson liquid may either be blood or jam), she exited the bathroom, deciding to go out the back, where she had parked the Jaguar.

Unfortunately for Mrs. Addams, waiters at Midnight Music were not as oblivious as she would have liked to think.

Two waiters approached her.

"What is going on here-" The waiter was a tall and lanky brunette. He was cut off by Ophelia.

Ophelia callously waved a dismissing hand. "Smashed, _cannot_ hold her alcohol. Just taking her home, don't mind me."

A short waiter, bald and fat with large, deep-set eyes stopped her. "But, she's wearing sunglasses-"

 _She's blind!"_ Ophelia blurted out. "Blind… _ed_ by the lights." She caught herself.

"Ma'am, perhaps you should-" Again, the tall waiter was cut off.

"Yes, well, thank you for the concern." Ophelia said, hastily.

At this point, five waiters had surrounded the confusion.

"Alright, now, nothing to see here!" The scene looked pathetic and awkward, with Ophelia barely supporting her sister's weight and her sister, in not only sunglasses but a ridiculous hat that conveniently covered her face. "Just a poor, knocked up- knocked out," She corrected herself, obviously jealous and raging over her and Gomez. "Girl and her sister, trying to get her home. Last time we go drinking together, amiright?"

"Perhaps, we should call someone-"

"Oh, no." Ophelia was practically dragging her sister out the back door. "No, no, there is no need. I'll just take her home, make her some soup, give her a cup of tea. But, thank you!" Ophelia then walked out the door with her unresponsive sister, nearly slipping on the wet ground, getting absolutely drenched now, from the rain. She shoved Morticia in the passenger seat of the expensive, white Jaguar, and sped off, her plan now in action.

Every waiter dispersed, dismissing the incident. Every waiter, thankfully, except for one. The tall waiter, Nigel Carrington, had a bad gut feeling. And he figured the lady's. what he presumed to be, her husband, should at least know, seeing as how affectionate he was when he last saw him.

Forty-year-old Nigel, the first to try and stop Ophelia, would now be the last. He briskly walked to the closest table near the dance floor.

It was easy to spot Gomez. He was smoking a cigar, waiting up for his querida. But, now, he looked distressed, like he knew something was off. His features read that something was troubling him, as it was now 11:15.

Nigel politely tapped Gomez's shoulder. "Pardon me, sir?"

Gomez looked up at the waiter. "Yes, old man, is something the matter?"

Nigel seemed a bit confused as to how to answer. So, he spoke honestly. "I'm not sure. Your wife was just carried out by a blonde woman. She claimed to be her sister."

Gomez immediately put out his cigar and jumped up. _"What?"_

"Yes, sir. I thought you ought to know." Nigel said.

Gomez knew he had to leave, now. "Pardon me, good man, but this is urgent. I'm not one to leave without paying but my wife is in danger."

Nigel nodded. "Of course, go. Should I call the-"

Gomez was already running out.

"Police." Nigel finished. Then, the helpful and confused man went back to clearing Mr. Addams' table.

Gomez ran through the rain, the wind screamed as he looked for the black Silverado, in a rush. Thankfully, he had parked fairly close, and he spotted it. He ran a hand over his hair, anxious as he slammed the door once he got into the truck. "Don't worry, Tish. I'm on my way."

Or not.

The car would not so much as start. Gomez hastily took the key out and put it back into the ignition. "Come on." He was perspiring now, fearful.

Again, nothing.

 _Goddamit!"_ Gomez smacked the steering wheel, shaking. Again, he tried to start the car and again, nothing came of it. And now, he was stuck.

Charles watched in horrour as Ophelia dragged an unconscious Morticia through the library doors, practically throwing her to Jeeves. Where was Gomez? Had they… was he? He had to do something, he had to do something fast.

 _Where had they said they were going?_ Charles thought. _Come on, you old fool, think! Fortnight Palooza… no. Nighttime… Goodbye? No, no. Midnight…. Midnight, Midnight, Midnight… Midnight Music! Good job, Mr. Frump. Why thank you. Now, I have to warn Gomez! God, but how?_

Charles materialized, then, into the Midnight Music parking lot. There, he found the black truck that Morticia had told him about.

Wasting not a second, Charles banged on the window. He then realized, that he could not be seen by anyone but his blood. Unless…

Charles materialized into the car and noticed a perspiring, angry Gomez, on the verge of an emotional breakdown. He buckled into the passenger seat, Gomez to caught up in blind fury at is vehicle to notice the seat buckling -from what he would have been able to see- by itself.

 _Start, damn it! I have to get to Tish!"_ Gomez was ready to bash the car's brains in.

Charles then took the pocketknife out of his suit jacket, and left a small slice in Gomez's hand.

"Start, damn it- _sss!_ " Gomez hissed and looked down. _"How in the hell…?"_ I did not matter, all that mattered was getting to Morticia.

Charles, before Gomez could do anything, let a bit of Gomez's blood drop onto his finger tip. Then, he licked it, enabling Gomez to see and hear him.

"Gomez, calm down, we have to get to Morticia!"

"Yes, I-" Gomez froze. He did not just hear what he thought he heard, did he? He slowly turned his head to the side. "Ahh!" He yelled, startled. What the hell was this man doing in his car and -a better question, still- how did he not notice? "Get out of my car!" He yelled at the man.

Charles shook a finger at him. _"That is no way to talk to your wife's father."_ He scolded.

"My wife's…?" Gomez was trying to wrap his brain around what was happening. Then, it dawned on him. "Charles?"

Charles nodded, impatiently. "Yes, it's me. Morticia's dead father." He said this as if it were a normal occurrence to take a drive with one's spouse's deceased relative.

Gomez remembered him now, but only because the family had séanced him a few times now. However, one did not simply… these things did not just, happen. He had never really talked, _talked_ to Morticia's father like he had Esmeralda. And that was mainly due to the minor detail that she was _living._ "You're in my car."

"Yes." Charles nodded.

Gomez was still having a hard time processing. "You're dead."

"Yes." The deceased Charles nodded once more.

Gomez sighed, in acceptance. "Alright." He had bigger things to worry about and if Charles could assist, by all means, he was alright with it.

"Alright, now let's start up this car."

With the help of Charles, the truck did finally start, and Charles explained everything he knew and had seen to Gomez on the way to the house. Now, the plan had changed. But, that was alright. Gomez's black goddess would be saved and saved, soon.

Within ten minutes and twenty red lights, they were inside the house. Gomez had gotten the children to follow him into Morticia's guest bedroom, Charles having lied out written directions and words written, phonetically on how to enchant The Blood Potion, or Quod Sanguis Potionem.

Gomez pulled Wendy over to the chair in the middle of the room.

"Who is that?" Wendy pointed at Charles, in the corner.

"Your grandfather." Gomez replied.

"What?"

"Cool." Peter's eyes widened.

"Wendy," Gomez held up a needle. "I need you to prick your finger with this." He said. "We need to put all of our blood into this vile." Gomez showed her.

"Father, this is insane." Wendy said, and rightly so. "I am not going to make myself bleed!"

Gomez put a gentle hand on Wendy's shoulder. "Wendy, I know that I am asking a lot from you, but you have to trust me. Your aunt is in danger, we all are."

"What the hell are you talking about?" A frustrated Wendy asked. "This is not a fantasy, Father. You can't just perform some weird ritual and expect life to change! This, is our life!"

Gomez shook his head, and handed Wendy the needle to prick her finger. His hand clasped over hers when he gave it to her, and he spoke. "What if I told you that it wasn't? Would you like it if you grew up and your father was happy, and, so were you?"

"Well, in this reality, we didn't." Wendy said bitterly.

Gomez let go of her hands, and the needle was in Wendy's anxious grasp, gleaming in what little light there was in the room. "What if I told you that you did?"

Peter took the second needle from off of the nightstand and looked his father in the eyes. "I believe you."

Gomez patted Peter on the back. "Thank you, Peter."

Peter then pricked his finger, and, fascinated, watched the blood drip into the vile that his father held.

Gomez then pricked his own finger with a silver, shinning, sharp-tipped needle. Thick, dark-coloured, AB blood dripped into the vile.

Then, Peter, Gomez and Charles eyed Wendy, praying, as they did not have a whole hell of a lot of time.

"Alright." Wendy gave in. "I love Aunt Morticia, and Father, I love you."

"What about me?" Peter asked.

"You're okay." Wendy smirked, but it quickly vanished. "Yes, I'll do it. I want to go back." She pricked her finger. "Even if I don't know where that is." She said and watched the crimson liquid drip from her finger and into the vile.

"Thank you, Wendy." Gomez kissed her forehead. He then turned to Charles. "Tell me this won't take long." His accented voice was lathered with anxiety.

Charles shook his head, taking the vile from his sort-of-son-in-law. "Don't worry, son." He said. "It won't."

Meanwhile, a couple of floors below, the gothic enchantress stirred…

The blackness of her clouded mind had cleared, for the most part, and Morticia Frump awoke. But she couldn't move. All she could do was think, and stare, at the bedazzled gun… and the psychotic blonde who aimed it at her.


	20. Ophelia's Lament

Morticia had gone from celebrating her anniversary with her love, happy, finally… but her sister could not allow that to happen.

As Morticia got her bearings, she internally began to panic. _Her sister_ … how it sickened her to call Ophelia her sister, aimed her brown, bedazzled pink gun at her. Not only that, but Morticia felt her arms restrained above her head. Her ankles were bound as well. She looked about the room she was in. Its dark walls, deep brown wooden floor, old Addams heirlooms, armchair with the bendable reading lamp on the mahogany table next to it. Surrounding her, and covering many of the walls were over a thousand books, written by generations of past Addams'. Then, of course, feet away from her left, there was the fireplace. It took Morticia not a second to realize that she in the library.

She was in the library, strapped down in her own marital wheel of pain. She had been surprised with that, along with the dungeon, on her first night as mistress of all she surveyed. How was it possible that it was in this room? How was it possible that this room was untouched? Perhaps Gomez, the one who had only Sensus Inversus memories, had kept it in this room, and kept this room the way it was. Perhaps he had needed one room that had not been completely overtaken by his wife.

Morticia was overcome with memories as when she realized that she was strapped to the torture device. However, this had to be the first time she was strapped to it with all of her clothes on, and in the library. That wheel was in the dungeon, it always had been. But, the dungeon probably did not exist anymore due to the new Mrs. Addams being Ophelia.

Typically, Morticia would be in some type of black lingerie and sometimes black high heels and strapped to that thing. Gomez's handsome, wild eyes would stare at her, an animalistic lust burning in them, while seduction tormented both the lovers. Their game would be drawn out, while Gomez gradually removed what clothing she was wearing. He would seduce her, then, slowly letting his lips travel up and down her body, attacking her neck with erotic ferocity, and licking up the drops of crimson liquid that escaped the flesh that Gomez's teeth had sunken into. Even now, it took all of her willpower not to let her head roll back, eyes closed in imagery.

She instead, eyed her deranged sister, coldly.

Ophelia's hair was tangled, her dress was ripped from getting it caught in the car, her satin high heels were soaked, and her mascara was smudged. Her hand was shaking, to some extent as her flashing, angry blue eyes heatedly stared back at her.

"Have a nice nap?" She kept her distance from the wheel.

"Oh, yes. I just adore being abducted, gagged and strapped down to one of my sex toys." Morticia, even when sarcastic, still had a calm, alluring voice. Only now, there was an unmistakable hostile edge in it.

Ophelia lowered the gun a bit, and straightened her back. "What?"

"What?" Morticia took not a moment to think of what she would say next. "I'm sorry, dear. I didn't realize you were under the impression that Gomez ever once stopped thinking of me. I'm assuming that you found this wheel in the library. You wouldn't have thought to look for it on your own. Some part of the Gomez I married kept it, not realizing exactly why it reminded him of me." Morticia was completely stoic. "So, yes, a creative choice for restraints but certainly nothing I'm not used to. Now, if you'd really like to torture me, all you'd have to do is become Mother Nature and make the sun come up."

Ophelia got a disgusted look on her face. _"God, you two are gross."_ She shook her head, aiming the gun at her sister once more. "Alright, that's it." She pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. "You're going to shut up, and you're going to listen. Now, you, Morticia… are going to die."

Morticia sighed. "We all are."

Ophelia rolled her eyes. "I mean like, soon. Like, tonight." Her uncontrollable anger returned. "You're going to die tonight. I'm waiting, staring at the clock behind you. Watching it _tick tock_ until it strikes almost midnight."

"Almost midnight isn't a time." Morticia said, unafraid.

"You think you're _something else,_ don't you?" Ophelia scoffed. _"You always have."_ She began to do quite the mocking impression of her sister. "Oh, I'm Morticia. I'm a social outcast, I'm too good for anyone! I cast spells, _I killed the family dog!_ " She grew more antagonistic with each syllable. "I'm so much like my father! Who cares about money? _Not fucking me!_ I deserve to be adored, _blah, blah, blah._ " Ophelia made a mocking puppet hand motion.

Morticia simply sat back, apathetically listening to her sister.

"Of course you didn't care about money! _You were rolling in it!_ You were the kind of person who could burn a million dollars and it wouldn't put so much as a _dent in your bank account!_ " She yelled, pacing. "You could have had anyone, _anyone_ else! You said it yourself, you didn't care about money! Well, guess what, bitch? I did! I _still_ do! You could have walked away that night, you could have gone and seduced _anybody else!_ But you had to seduce my chance at a good life!

"You fell asleep each night on satin sheets in some big, comfortable bed while I slept in a stranger's bed! Once you married Gomez, you never had to work a day in your life! _I_ danced in a cage while forty-six-year-old men tried to stick a dollar in my ass! And the _really_ sick part is that you acted like your life was so unbearable! _My sister locked me in the closet, my mother's depressed, my father died!_ " Ophelia dramatically fanned herself with her hand. "Your goddamn right, I hate you! I despise you for what you did to me! You wanna know why I called you a slut that night? You were _a frigid bitch_ until you met Gomez. All the sudden you wanna act like your some kind of dominatrix, _really?_

"How in the hell could anyone love you? Really, love _you?_ You never show emotion, you dress like somebody died, _you're weird!_ You are _abnormal! Nobody acts like this!_ You're a walking Tim Burton character! And yet, the wealthiest man in Massachusetts had to pick _you!_ " Ophelia was now in a full-blown state of rage. "I… I didn't always used to hate you the way I do. Ya know? I'm not a bad person."

Morticia was unsure if Ophelia was still talking to her or now talking to herself.

"I'm not. I used to at least tolerate you. All I wanted as a child was to mean something to myself and to the world. Stars in my eyes, I entered beauty pageant after pageant and I only ever lost one. My teeth weren't straight enough. I got oral surgery before I even became a young woman!" Ophelia cried. "At a young age, Morticia, I found out that men only wanted one thing. Sex and power. But, mostly, sex. Love never existed for me. And that was alright, because passion replaced it. Passion for wealth. Money. I could have had it all! What other wealthy man would marry me, if it weren't arranged, hmm?

"So, yes, perhaps I did put out a bit."

Morticia scoffed.

Ophelia gave her a death glare. She was acting completely insane. "But, all I ever wanted, was to never. Have. To work for anything." Ophelia dabbed her eyes with her fingertip. "Like you." She said, ignoring the blatant rudeness in her statement. "But you had to take my only chance at all my dreams coming true, and steal it away from me for what? _For love._ " She aimed the gun at her sister again. "Alright, yes, I did try to kill you. And I had good reason, _Tish._ I had to make you suffer for what you took from me, _daddy's girl._ Ya know, at first, I really did think you cast some kind of spell on that man." Ophelia said. "Then I found out he didn't. He's just as weird as you are.

"I did try to frame you for murder. Of course, I hoped they'd put you away. What I didn't count on was your _love slave_ causing a scene." Ophelia frowned. "I have regrets, I have many regrets." She then stopped pacing and looked her sister in the eyes. "But, by far, my biggest regret… was not. Killing. _You._ "

"Ophelia," Morticia had been silent long enough. "You didn't have to do any of that. You could have made things right with me. You could have cared about me. You could have decided not to try and use me all my life. You could have been there. You could have made a life for yourself, a good life. But you didn't do any of that. Not all men just want sex. Gomez loves me. Not just for my body. I love him, and not just for what he can do to me. I was not going to let that go. Not then. Not now." She stared down Ophelia's bedazzled gun. _"Not ever."_

Ophelia laughed. "You won't have much of a choice in a little while, dear. It's kind of hard to drink a counter potion when your dead."

"How-"

Ophelia cut her sister off. "I found your little note, _my darling, Tish._ " She pulled the note out of her dress. "Pastels? _Ouch._ " Ophelia grimaced, her voice having oozed sarcasm. " _I could fill up an entire history book of my feelings for you, and it still would not be enough paper to write everything I worship you for."_ Ophelia's finger traced over the letter's carefully written words, reading semi-silently to herself. She then looked up at her sister. "You two _really shouldn't_ leave your plans simply lying about. Really, you should know better. I thought you were smart." She sighed. "I knew exactly where you were, what time you were leaving…" Her voice trailed off. _"This letter is really sickening."_

"Ophelia, that gun… it doesn't scare me. You, _you_ don't instill fear in my heart. We both know that you want to find any excuse to kill me. So, you blame me for all of the wrongs in your life. Really, Ophelia, you should only blame yourself."

Ophelia was offended. But she merely nodded. "This gun doesn't scare you?" Her voice was ominously calm for a moment. "That wasn't the intent. I don't scare you? I figured as much. But, what I can do, what I will, do." Ophelia stepped closer to the wheel, then looked her sister dead in the face. "That's going to scare you."

Morticia said nothing.

"The clock behind you is just ticking, ticking away. When I kill you, I'm going to enjoy it. Death doesn't scare you, I know. But your precious family getting hurt… _that does._ "

Morticia, although not showing it on her face, was afraid.

"You're going to bleed out, and then, what's going to become of your family when you're gone? Gomez will discover you, and break. His world would shatter. He wouldn't know how to exist without you." Ophelia inched closer to her sister. "Oh, I can just see it now… the tears, streaming down that handsome face of his when he finds you dead. I'll get to watch the life leave both your eyes. The children, what would become of them? You'll die and they will never know that you were ever their mother."

Morticia, inadvertently, gulped. She fought tears.

Ophelia's face was now dangerously close to her sister. "They'll have to live out their lives, confused… abused. Abandoned. Gomez will kill himself without you. And I'll be the soul beneficiary of all that money, as his wife. You won't be around to watch those kids grow up. Gomez won't be there to save them from themselves, their inner demons… or angels." She decided. "That, _that_ scares you. Gomez, he's going to be the first, I can promise, to discover you dead. He will be the only one to scream, to cry, to feel his whole world crash down around him."

A clear, crystal tear rolled down Morticia's porcelain cheek, yet no sound was produced.

Ophelia smiled, wickedly, watching her sister come undone. "The sex was nice, by the way." She winked at her, and backed away from the wheel once more.

Morticia was speechless. A couple more silent tears fell from the haunting beauty's face, but she refused to produce sound. She refused to give her damaged, deranged sister the satisfaction of watching _her_ world crash down around her.

How could Ophelia be so heartless? After everything that Morticia had to endure in her life, after all of the hell she had to walk through, after mourning over her deceased father and taking care of her depressed mother… after finally, finding love, adoration, someone who deeply, deeply cared for her. After becoming the center of somebody's world, having children, changing for the better… fate, and her sister, had decided to deal her another cruel hand. As far as the hand of sisters were concerned, Morticia was indeed dealt quite the ripped set of cards.

But, Ophelia was right. Death, Morticia never feared. The only thing she feared was being without Gomez. She feared leaving him, and losing him. She feared her children always thinking of her as their aunt, who was not around for the first eight and ten years of their lives. She feared all this, but she was terrified, sick, over Gomez. Over the thought of him, finding her dead. The scene played out in her mind over and over like a broken piece of film, playing on repeat and turning into a nightmarish movie. Only, it wasn't a movie at all. It was Sensus Inversus. It was Ophelia. It was reality.

"It's getting late." Ophelia eyed the clock. It was 11:30. "No, I don't think I'll give you the time. I'll let you think." She sighed, not taking her eyes off of her sister. "Ya know-" Ophelia screamed, startled.

The last tear fell as Morticia looked up and to the front of her.

The library window had just been smashed open.

He was here.


	21. Blood for the Passionate

**_I just want to give a huge thank you to everyone kind enough and excited enough about Bed of Dead Roses to reveiw! You really do help keep this story going, your support means the world to me. This is my favourite story that I have written, and knowing how much you like it makes me strive to do even better with it. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as I have enjoyed writing it! Thank you again so very much. Now, I believe we left off at..._**

Gomez burst through the window, rapiers in hand (Hell only knows where he got them?). His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of his darling Tish, strapped to that wheel, having God knows what done to her. Any regular, old fool on any regular, old day, would look at Morticia and see little emotion, be unable to understand what she was truly thinking. But Gomez… could just read her rather well. He knew she had been crying, and if he didn't hate Ophelia enough already, he hated her even more now.

Especially when he saw the gun, aimed at Morticia.

"Lower the gun or so help me, God!" Gomez yelled.

Morticia felt the strongest mix of relief and fear. She was tied down, powerless to do anything. Gomez had swords… Ophelia had bullets. "Mon cher!" She called.

"Cara mia!" Gomez looked over at her, worry in his striking, brown eyes.

Ophelia caught her breath, having had the wind scared out of her. She then, smirked, hearing Gomez's voice. "Gomez? I didn't count on you showing up."

"I swear, Ophelia, if you lay another hand on her, I will end you!"

Ophelia laughed. "Relax, darling. I only have two." She kept the gun aimed at Morticia. "I'm waiting."

Morticia's chest rose as she breathed, heavier than usual. "What time is it?" She asked, hating the feeling of being constrained by the woman she most despised.

Gomez looked up at the clock. "11:47." He answered.

Morticia nodded. "Thank you, darling."

 _Why?"_ Gomez's accented voice grew more concerned.

"Yes, _thank you, darling._ " Ophelia sounded rather upset. "Honestly, all I wanted was a little surprise. She isn't supposed to know." She quickly dismissed this, however. "Well, she'll lose track of the time soon, anyway. Oh, and why? Because, each tick of that clock," Ophelia gestured with her head up to the clock behind Morticia. "Counts down how much time _l'amore…_ " She smirked. "Has left."

Gomez felt an aching tightness inside of him. _"I swear-"_

"Mrs. Addams? I thought you might like a snack?" Jeeves walked in, leisurely, not noticing the stillness in the room. "I am terribly sorry for fainting after you pulled out that gun. But, I thought- oh, Mr. Addams!" The fruit slid off of the silver tray Jeeves was holding and he shook, nervously, upon noticing Gomez.

Gomez turned to Jeeves and eyed him, hatefully. _"Bastard."_ He spat.

Jeeves now was afraid for his life, looking down at the rapiers which could end him in seconds.

"Sir, please, I can explain!" Jeeves' voice faltered as he grew more fearful.

 _"You lied to me."_ An enraged fire burned in the Castilian's dark eyes.

Jeeves nodded. "Yes, yes, I did. But I can explain." He gripped the tray.

"Not a chance." Gomez gave him not a second. He sprung at him with the rapiers, beginning to try and get a hit.

 _Ahh!"_ Jeeves screamed and began to try and block Mr. Addams with the silver tray.

Tables and chairs were knocked about while Gomez chased after the butler, and he, weak, tried to defend himself. As Jeeves ran from Mr. Addams, he tripped over the Victorian velvet armchair and fell. The tray flew from his hands, landing across the room. Seeing as he did not have much time, Jeeves grabbed a pillow off of the fallen chair and held it out in front of him as Gomez thrust the rapier.

It went through the pillow, missing Jeeves' jugular by a centimeter.

 _Oh, God!"_ Jeeves cried. He gulped and scrambled to his feet, backing against the round, dark wooden desk in the corner of the room.

In one instantaneous move, Gomez had both swords around Jeeves neck. _"Any last words?"_ He grimed.

"You're asking the wrong person." Ophelia had had enough.

Not releasing Jeeves, Gomez turned his head to Ophelia.

"Kill him, darling…" Ophelia cocked the gun, aimed at her unfortunately subdued sister. "And I. Kill. _Her._ "

Gomez wanted to kill Jeeves, right now. But his querida meant more to him than revenge, and if ending his betraying butler's life would endanger his only, he would let the man live. He grimaced and slowly released a paralyzed Jeeves. Then, he turned back to Morticia and Ophelia.

"You'll never be rid of me, Ophelia." Morticia spoke up, willing the tears that wanted to come out to stay back. And they did.

 _Excuse me?"_ Ophelia sneered.

Morticia continued. "Try as you might, I won't ever leave. I will not go quietly and I will not go easily. I will not go at all. You can take my life, you practically already have." She looked around, the entire room uneasily listening to the supposed victim. "But, I will always be here." She narrowed her eyes, her voice quieted a bit, and grew more chilling. "I'm always going to be in your mind. No matter what you do, my presence is always going to be there. So help me if I let you hurt my family, dead or alive. The only thing that is hurting me right now is thinking of Gomez…" Morticia looked over, briefly, at her heartsick husband. "When it comes to us, it seems that one cannot survive without the other. But as for my children. _My,_ children." She stared at her sister, cold and dead. "I will somehow save them. If you dare kill me, it will not be hell that you're going to have to fear as you inch closer to your impending demise. But rather, it's going to be me. Because when fire fills your head, when you cannot sleep and you can't eat because every time you do, you choke… when you cry, uncontrollably for no reason at all, when you step outside into the bright day or the cold, dark night, your heart drops to your stomach and all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing, and all you can think about is the fact that one day, you're going to stop breathing, when depression, darkness and screams of pain, whispers of confusion and noises of nails upon nails going into your coffin fill your head until all you can do is stay up at night, screaming out the name of the one you killed, and thinking of the lives you destroyed…" Morticia took a deep breath. _"I'm going to be behind it."_

"Tish…" Gomez felt completely powerless.

Ophelia scoffed, shaking the slight panic out of her head. She repositioned the gun and aimed at Morticia's gut. " _Someone_ once told me that one of the slowest and most painful ways to die is by getting shot in the gut." She said. "In ten minutes, when all you can feel is unbearable pain, and all you can see is blood pouring out of your body, and all you can hear is screaming from the one man you promised you'd never leave…" Ophelia smirked. "It's going to be _me_ behind it." She replied.

Gomez and Morticia both stared daggers into Ophelia.

"You're going to die," Ophelia said to her sister. "Tonight, in this library… just like you should have twenty years ago."

Morticia was expressionless of face. "Everything you blame me for…" She said. "I want you to know that you did it all yourself."

Ophelia nodded. "Mmm. Alright, then, _cocky._ " She took one hand off of the handle of the gun and stuck it out. "Show her the ring, Gomez."

Gomez then remembered. He remembered what made the Sensus Inversus version of himself hate Ophelia more than words could express. He remembered and no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that it was not real… it was.

He shook his head. "Ophelia, _no._ "

"Show. Her." Ophelia ordered. "Or I blow her head off."

Gomez gulped, refusing to meet the eyes of the woman he adored. He said nothing as he slowly walked toward Ophelia, and slipped the ring off of her finger, full of reluctant despair. Then, still unable to meet his black angel's eyes, he held up the ring.

That was when Morticia saw it. The beautiful ring, once hers… silver and shining bright. And engraved in that ring, that ring that Gomez had kissed and slipped on her finger more times than she could count on all four limbs, that ring that she never took off unless she had to, that ring that was held, along with her hand, in Gomez's firm grasp, when she was pushing out the children that Ophelia had claimed as her own… _her_ children, engraved in that ring… was _cara mia_.

Morticia broke inside. How dare she? Her sister didn't deserve to be his wife, didn't deserve to be those children's mother, didn't deserve to be Mrs. Addams and certainly, didn't deserve to own that ring. There was feeling behind that name he called her, passion, devotion, adoration… but never, for Ophelia.

Vehement rage and disgust in her voice, Morticia growled, "I hate you." Then, she shook her head. "No. No, I don't. I hate what you've become. You used to be a bitch and a whore, and that, I could tolerate. But now, you're some loathsome, underhanded creature." Morticia paused, her eyes shifted and she then met the eyes of her sister. " _And_ a whore."

Ophelia was indeed offended, but before she could speak, Gomez did.

He finally met Morticia's eyes, feeling the need to explain himself. "Tish, I never called her that. _Not. Once._ I couldn't. That name reminded me of you. It always will. You are the only one that I have ever addressed as that. _Ever._ Ophelia heard me say it once, under my breath, I was thinking of you." Gomez explained. "The next day she demanded it be engraved in her ring. Having no true memories, I didn't know why." Gomez despised Ophelia for what she did, and his face showed it when he did look at her, for a brief moment. "Until now." He turned back to Morticia. "I worship you, cara mia. I will continue to, forever… and I am so, very sorry."

Morticia nodded. "I know. I believe you." She replied. "I believe you, mon cher."

"I love you, my dearest." Something changed in Gomez's eyes. Something subtle.

Morticia was confused, but she trusted him. "I love you, mon diable."

"Now," Ophelia fixed her posture. "Since it's 11:55, I think we should say our prayers that little miss Tish doesn't feel too much pain when her guts get shot out."

Morticia closed her eyes.

"Adesso!" Gomez yelled.

Just then, Wendy, Grimm (or grandpa), draped over her shoulders and Peter popped out from behind the statues in the back of the room.

Ophelia screamed as Gomez grabbed her from behind. She fought with all of her strength, but Gomez was strong, and he easily overpowered her. " _I'll_ be taking _this._ " He grabbed her gun. "Farla scendere!" Gomez yelled to the children, having practiced these commands with the fast learners while they made the potion.

Wendy gave a nod to Peter. "Come on!"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "That means down, right?"

"Yes, idiot, now come on!" Finally, Wendy was able to yell her emotions. She felt oddly dissimilar to herself, then. Maybe her father was right. It was then that she fully believed him.

Peter began to unstrap his aunt from the bottom. Wendy used her father's rapiers to cut the binds on her aunt's wrists.

Morticia gracefully stepped down, the children holding her in place best they could. She looked down at them and smiled. "Thank you, children."

Wendy nodded, and Peter saluted her.

"This is so cool!" Peter exclaimed.

"For the last time, Peter," Wendy rolled her eyes. "This isn't a game!"

Morticia laughed, loving the fact that they were acting almost like their old selves, minus the respective pastel pink, silk nightgown and baby blue pajama pants. She then grew serious again and lead the children to a safer area in the corner, by the fire.

"Jeeves!" Ophelia yelled for her butler struggling against Gomez's hold on her.

Jeeves cowered against the table, terrified.

Gomez, maintaining his hold on Mrs. Addams, still, aimed the gun at Jeeves.

Jeeves, on his knees, folded his hands in front of him. "Please, Mr. Addams!" He pleaded. "Please, please, I don't want to die."

"Neither did my Tish but you didn't seem to care then!" Gomez retorted, grateful that the children unstrapped his darling one.

"Yes, I know, but she's alive!"

"You won't be!" Gomez yelled.

"Please!" Jeeves cried. "I'll do anything you ask of me! Just let me live!"

 _Sit. Stay."_ Gomez ordered. "Until I need you."

Morticia felt her stomach flip, watching her husband take charge. How they could make each other this crazy, even as they were in mortal danger was both mindboggling and beautiful all at once.

Then, Morticia ran to her husband.

Gomez forgot everything around him upon seeing her. He kissed her, despite wanting to do much more. "La pozione è nella mi tasca, cara mia." He informed her.

"Oui." Morticia nodded in understanding and reached into his pants' pocket. Then, she pulled out Quod Sanguis Potionem.

Ophelia's eyes grew wide. She gasped.

Morticia looked at the clock.

It was almost 11:58.

Hurriedly, she drank a third of the potion.

Gomez clutched the vile between his teeth and drank another third, then Morticia took it back.

"Jeeves!" Morticia called.

Jeeves looked up, entranced and afraid. "Y-yes, Ms. Frump?"

Morticia took the gun from Gomez -enabling her husband to hold Ophelia more securely- and she aimed it at Jeeves. "It's almost midnight. If you want to keep your life I suggest you get Mrs. Addams to drink this." She held up the vile.

Gomez felt his heart beat faster. He adored how commanding she could be.

"Don't!" Ophelia protested. She turned her head to Jeeves, her hair now a mess. "Jeeves, I thought we had an understanding. We did, didn't we?"

"No." Jeeves shook his head.

"Would you like to live a few more years?" Morticia raised her eyebrow, in questioning the butler.

Jeeves stood, gun aimed at his heart, and took the vile from Morticia. "Yes." He replied.

"Yes, _what?_ " Morticia asked, gun still pointed at Jeeves.

Jeeves gulped. "Yes, Madame."

Morticia smirked, feeling Gomez's lustful gaze on her and indulged him, giving him her hand to kiss.

Jeeves, shaking but determined to keep his hold on the bottle, began to force open Ophelia's mouth.

"Get away from me!" Ophelia bit him.

Jeeves made a yelping noise when bitten, and blood poured from his finger. However, Jeeves' one rule was to put himself first. And that, he did. So, in need of his own life, he forced the potion into Ophelia's mouth and made her swallow it.

Grimm hissed in triumph, and his eyes sparkled when looking at his daughter.

Fog swirled about the room.

"Hold this." Gomez threw an angry Ophelia at Jeeves.

Jeeves did as he had been instructed, not wishing to die this night.

The children grabbed onto each other, anxious.

Gomez held Morticia in his arms, thanking heaven and hell that she was alright. "Cara mia…" He took a deep breath.

"Je t'aime, mon amour…" Morticia closed her eyes.

"It's going to be alright." Gomez kissed her, passionately.

The blue-grey fog soon enveloped the room.

The clock, loudly striking midnight could be heard throughout the hearts and minds of all in the room. Visions, memories played out in the eyes of every person in the broken family. They saw it all. Morticia, meeting Gomez and that beautiful night. Gomez, professing his undying love for her. The fight between the sisters, the trial, they engagement, the hotel, the ceremony in the cemetery. The beautiful backyard was the darkest and most macabre it had ever been on that passionate night. Their honeymoon, and that glorious cruise, the trips, the love, the beauty. Gomez and his hands and lips all over his querida every chance he got. Kitty, and Máma, Lurch, and the tango, the dancing, the blissful unhappiness. Real life played out in beautiful clips of intimate, true details and memories. There was no need to redecorate too much, as the gloomy mansion was already hauntingly beautiful. Gomez, carrying Morticia in his arms up the stairs when she would fall asleep in his arms when they watched Hellraiser or after they had made love in the graveyard. Morticia, in the hospital bed, in unbearable pain and Gomez, rubbing her back, holding her hand and showering her in affection and kisses as she birthed... a baby girl. Two years later, she did the same, with a little boy. And then, a funeral, the funeral for Gomez's parents. Everyone in the Addams family attended. However, the gravestone to mother and father Addams was enough to lift the family's spirits. It got better and better, and the children grew and were raised in an environment filled with dark humour, parents who adored one another, and beautiful, real happiness. The young boy was stealing stop signs and on probation, while the beautiful, petite young girl was beautifully homicidal. Everything was put back into place like an old puzzle, in their brains and before their eyes as though they were finally weathering the raging cyclone. The P.D.A., the macabre atmosphere and the magnificently haunted estate, the sibling rivalry, and Gomez... looking so passionate and so… alive. And there was Morticia, heading the family with her husband. Worshipped, adored, beautiful, happy… strong enough. Soon, they weathered the storm, and everyone's visions drifted back to _the old reality._


	22. Vile, Shattered Vials

The fog had cleared, and it was as if the old reality was waiting in some holding center for alternate universes. Life appeared to simply unpause, as the family was returned to the true, right reality in the same positions they left it in.

Morticia was holding her husband's head in her lap, and her children huddled against her. The shock of the situation hit the family. For most, it was simply an odd, out-of-body experience. For Gomez, Morticia and Ophelia, however… it was much more.

Gomez's eyes jolted open, as if he had just been shocked with a defibrillator. He looked up to see his darling Tish, smiling down at him, and the world instantly fell away. "Cara mia…" He sat up.

Morticia looked around, happier than she would have ever thought to be in her sister's basement. That meant that they had succeeded. This was reality. This was beautiful, magnificent, passionate, gloomy, glorious, sweet reality. Her eyes then met her husband's, and it took all she had not to break down and cry gloomily passionate tears. _"Mon amour…"_

Gomez sat up and gripped her waist, not letting go of her bewitching gaze. "I love you, Mrs. Addams."

Morticia smiled and briefly looked at her wedding ring. It was just that. _Hers. She_ _was Mrs. Addams,_ and she had never been more proud to _be_ Mrs. Addams. Her nails dug into his neck. "I've never been happier to be called that, darling."

"I love you." Gomez said again, drawing her close to his chest. "I love you, Mrs. Addams, in every reality, in every language, mi amore."

Morticia kissed him. "Mmm… Je t'aime, mon cher. Je t'aime, je te veux, je vous adore, aime moi pour toujours, mon sauvage!"

"I adore you, my black angel." Gomez replied and began to fervently kiss her up her arm, then devouring her neck. He looked into her eyes. "You're my wife." He stated this fact so adoringly, so happily, needing to reinforce this.

"You're my husband." Morticia pulled herself against him, sighing in relief. "Mon diable, you're my husband." This fact meant more to her than any amount of diamonds ever could. Her husband. She had been robbed of her title, her children, her life and her husband. And now, she had it back; she had all of it back. She missed her husband, being able to say, _Yes, Gomez Addams is my husband, my darling amour. I am Mrs. Addams._ She wanted to shout from the rooftops, _I am Mrs. Addams!_ However, she simply looked into Gomez's eyes and thanked the universe that he was hers. Her husband.

"I need that tongue in my mouth." Gomez stroked her hair.

No more words needing to be exchanged, Morticia kissed him, her lips parting and sending an invitation to Gomez's tongue to make this dance a passion party, and he took not a moment to respond, pulling his wife in closer.

Wednesday cleared her throat, annoyed and worried. "We don't have time for this!" She then took notice of Pugsley, smiling like an idiot and smacked him upside the head, angered.

Gomez broke the kiss, maintaining his hold on his querida and realized… they were still in the basement of Morticia's mad sister, who had a gun.

"Children, this is urgent. Run upstairs and pack." Morticia ordered.

Wednesday and Pugsley exchanged a confused expression. Pack? Were they forgetting that they were trapped down here.

"We tried that." Wednesday said. "It's locked."

Morticia nodded. "I know, kick it in." She replied.

Wednesday shook her head. "Are you insane? She has a gun!"

Gomez helped his children to their feet. "Perhaps. You have to try."

Pugsley was apprehensive. "We don't want to leave you guys."

Wednesday didn't want to. She truly hated the thought of leaving her parents with her clearly psychotic aunt. She could not believe that they had been so unhappy, content in their wonderfully macabre lifestyle and then her aunt had to invite them to California. She had to invite them to California with her weird dog and hideous house. Not to mention, her awful personality. Then, as if that weren't bad enough, she had to try and enact some weird spell to rip their family apart. Wednesday knew what that spell did. Just because no one had begun to teach her the black arts did not mean that she decided not to do a bit of research herself.

However, she knew that if they were going to get out of this in one piece, she would have to listen to her parents. She grabbed her younger brother's arm. "Pugsley, we have to try and leave."

"But, Wednesday-"

 _"_ _Now!"_ Wednesday commanded.

Pugsley nodded, upset but not daring to disobey his sister when she scared him like that.

The children ran to the white, wooden door, and Wednesday slammed her brother into it. The impact was enough to kick it in. They ran out, not looking back, the door shutting behind them.

"No." At first, the words that escaped the lips of Ophelia Anastasia Frump came out in a whisper. But, they soon grew louder, and more enraged. _"No. No, no, no, God, no!"_ Hysterical, she scrambled about like a madwoman, trying to pick up the remaining contents of the failed potion. "Take me back, take me back, goddamit! Agh! Mutare praeterita…" She continued to try and recite fragments of the spell but nothing came of it. The vile on the floor was cracked, and shattered in her hands when she tried to pick it up. _"Fuckers!"_ She yelled, bleeding and crying.

Gomez saw this psychotic break as an opportunity, and he and his wife exchanged a look to clarify that they were thinking the same thing.

"Father… wish me luck." Morticia said, under her breath. For, she knew, just because her father was gone and dead, it did not mean that he was not watching her. It did not mean that what went on between him in that now unreal month never happened. _"I am strong enough."_ She said to herself as she and Gomez sprang up.

Ophelia barely noticed, to wrapped up in hysteria to see Morticia grab her gun. It was only when Gomez grabbed her spell book, did she realize that the world around her was still turning.

Ophelia looked up, at her sister, bitter and angry. "What?" Her voice was hoarse. "Are you going to kill me?"

Morticia looked down at the bedazzled gun, and shook her head. "No." She said, having decided this a long time ago. "You deserve to pay for what you did. And no amount of bloodshed, as much as I'd like to see it, is going to do justice. If you're dead, you're dead." Morticia took a step towards her pathetic, older sister. "Ophelia, I do not care if you change or stay the same for the rest of your life. But hear me, when I say that if you try to call me, write me or manipulate me or anyone in my family ever again, I won't have a single shred of mercy for you. And if I didn't get my family back today, I certainly wouldn't."

Ophelia smirked. "I'm sure of it." She scoffed. "You know, you're all talk, Tish. You don't have the guts to-

 _holy shit!_ "

Before she could finish her insult, Morticia shot the gun. The bullet nearly grazed Ophelia, and penetrated the fallen portrait of the golden-haired psycho off the wall, directly next to her. "Would you like me to put a bullet in your real head or would you prefer to keep it in your painted one?"

Ophelia was pale with fear, having just seen her entire, miserable life flash before her eyes. "I'd prefer to keep it in my painted head, thank you." She swallowed, hard. "But protip, if you wanted painted me to suffer, you should have aimed for my heart."

"I couldn't, dear." Morticia replied, coldly.

"Why?"

The gothic beauty blew the smoke from the freshly fired gun. "Because you don't have one."

Ophelia had nothing to say to the stab her sister had just taken at her. She instead watched, as Gomez wrapped his arm around the waist of his wife- his _real_ wife, protectively.

She grimaced. "I'm assuming you have words for me too, _el macho_?" Ophelia refused to even meet Gomez's eyes.

Gomez nodded. "Yes, actually, I do." He said. Then he spoke, with such conviction, such adoration for his wife. "I love your sister. Morticia Andora Addams is my entire life, and I hope you suffer and suffer greatly for trying to reduce my passionate love for her and our devotion to our family to merely dust in the wind of forgotten past. Know that I would love to see you dead. But, fortunately for you… Morticia is a better person than I am."

Ophelia still would not look into his eyes.

Gomez then shared a knowing look with his wife and led her up the basement stairs. "I believe I saw a couple of rats run across your floor just now!" He called to Ophelia.

"What the hell does that have to do with-" Ophelia's eyes enlarged as she prayed they were not doing what she thought they were.

Gomez shut off the basement lights, then.

A loud _bang_ could be heard, and if it weren't for the pitch darkness, one could see that Morticia had shot the switch.

 _"_ _No."_ Ophelia said to herself, darkness and large sewer rats not being her best at handling. She could have sworn she heard the pitter patter of rat feet… but perhaps it was just her imagination. She jumped, trying to see in the darkness, her only light being from the open-door upstairs. _"What the hell?"_

Morticia began to close the door. Then, she called down to her sister, "Do you remember that time you locked me in the closet, dear?"

"Morticia, _don't!_ " Ophelia yelled.

Ignoring her, Morticia continued on. "I couldn't hear you over the squeaking!" That was the last thing she said to her sister. She shut the door, locking it from the outside, leaving Ophelia to face the darkness in the basement, and the demons -or angels- in her nonexistent heart.

Morticia and her husband ran through the house, determined to get to their children.

"Are there really rats down there?" Morticia inquired as they ascended the stairs.

"No." Gomez admitted. "But how I wish there were."

Soon enough, the couple reached their children. Then, they became quite happy in the realization that Wednesday and Pugsley had not only packed everything of their own, but they packed everything of their parents. Well, Wednesday had. Despite her arguably dominating and torturous nature towards her younger brother, she did somewhat care about him. She had not wanted him to see what -she had a feeling- her mother had brought with her. She knew her suspicions had been confirmed when she had packed a black lingerie set with silver spikes on the bra. That, to the average child, would be traumatizing. However, it was merely an average, September night for the gloomy ten-year-old.

Gomez held his wife, their children walking in front of them as they exited the house. The looked back, not. They wished the memory of that awful place would leave their heads, like visions of sugarplums that would dare dance on Christmas nights, trying to intrude on their miserable holiday.

The Addams family walked not a mile before a taxi was flagged down. Exhausted, the foursome piled into the taxi.

Wednesday and Pugsley sat at the right window of the rusty, old, yellow vehicle, hoping that they could get some sleep on the semi-long drive.

Morticia sat in Gomez's lap, back against the window while he held her in a tight, adoring embrace.

"Where am I taking you people this late at night?" The old, grungy driver asked.

Gomez ran his fingers through his black angel's hair, not looking up when he spoke to the driver. "Fareigndale Airport, please, good man!"

The driver nodded. "Long drive." He remarked, toothpick in mouth. "Alright, make yourselves comfortable. Don't ask if ya need anything, I'm runnin' low on sleep. Chances are, I won't hear ya." He then put on his oversized, bright orange headphones, secretly jamming out to Whitney Huston.

Confused, Pugsley spoke. "What was that?" He asked his parents.

Wednesday raised her eyebrow, deciding to voice her confusion as well. "I thought we were getting that box."

Morticia and Gomez exchanged a concerned expression. What did their children know? Did they remember? For the amorous pair, it was impossible to forget. But for the children…

"What do you think happened?" Gomez asked, unsure of just what either of them would say.

Pugsley sighed. "Well-"

Wednesday cut her younger brother off, not interested in his babbledom. "Aunt Ophelia was trying to enact Sensus Inversus. I assume you stopped her." Wednesday said.

Morticia nodded, now realizing her children remembered not a thing of their month-long… adventure. "Yes." She replied. She closed her eyes, happy and full of relief when Gomez held her hand, and kissed it. "We did."

"Sorry Aunt Ophelia was crazy, mother." Pugsley said.

Mother. Her little boy had called her _mother._ Not Aunt Morticia, not strange, not weird, not anything but mother. She missed this. Her son, her daughter, her husband by her side. Her family. Her entire family. But her heart swelled at Pugsley's word. She never thought one word could mean so much to her, but here she was. Here she was, nearly moved to tears at her own son calling her mother. And, while on the topic of those strong women who bear children, Morticia could not wait to get home, and hug her own mother, thankful that she was alive. That they all were.

She smiled as Gomez kissed her from her shoulder to her neck, slowly and sensually. "It runs in the family." Morticia responded, breathless. "Get some sleep, children, we had a busy night." She barely looked at them, starved from her husband's touch and completely seduced.

"Well, _you_ did." Wednesday remarked, dryly and rolled her eyes.

Gomez sucked Morticia's neck, close to giving her a hickey.

Morticia closed her eyes, in ecstasy, barely listening to the world around her. "Wednesday, stop being nice to your brother." She remarked, absently.

Pugsley stuck his tongue out at his sister.

"Put your tongue back in your mouth or I'm going to cut it off." Wednesday threatened, scooting away from her parents.

Morticia still was in her own bliss-filled, dark world with her husband. Eyes closed, she leaned her head back. He had found that nerve again. _"Mmm… perfect."_

"Thank you, mother." Wednesday gave a nod, not looking at her mother.

Pugsley laughed at her. "I don't think she was talking to you."

"Pugsley, shut up." Wednesday paused, remembering her upbringing. _"Now."_

Pugsley leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, weary. "Come on, you love me."

Wednesday did the same, shortly after he brother. "Somewhat."

Pugsley shrugged. "I'll take it."

Morticia turned her head after Gomez was through with her neck (for now). "Did you really mean what you said?" She asked, unable to hide the exhaust in her voice. "That you think I'm a better person than you are?"

Gomez chuckled. "I don't think, I know."

Morticia shook her head. "So do I. I know that that is entirely untrue, Gomez." She said. "You risked everything for me, darling. And in my eyes, you will always be the best man in the world. And no matter what happens, mon cher, that is never going to change."

"Oh, Tish…" Gomez smiled. "Thank you. You're everything to me, cara mia."

Morticia sighed, in love. "I know. And you're my everything as well, mon amour."

Gomez then kissed his wife, passionately; ecstatically prideful in the notion that she was indeed his wife.

Morticia snuggled against her husband, and turned to see her sleeping children. "Those are our children." She reinforced that, happy to be able to say it, and for it to be true.

"You're the only woman I'd ever want to have raised a beautiful family with, Tish." Gomez said and let his nails run over her back.

"Gomez…" Morticia looked up at him. "I'm exhausted."

Gomez kissed her forehead. "Get some rest, my dearest." He said. Then, he made his querida comfortable by holding her close, rubbing her back and humming their song, while she nuzzled her head in his shoulder, and tried her best to drift off in her adoring husband's arms.


	23. December Doth Come

December Doth Come, and Hath Brought With it, Blood:

The rest of the month had gone by in the blink of a cyclops' eye.

Wednesday had found the key to Charles' box for his daughter, and gave it to her astonished and grateful mother at the airport. Once back, the plan to séance Charles every two months was set into action.

Pugsley for some reason became better at English, and even got in trouble for threatening a school bully with a new alphabet that his mother had taught him. His parents could not have been more proud of their little boy.

The first thing Morticia did when she arrived home the next morning was hug her mother (to Esmeralda's surprise), grateful that she had at least one parent in this reality. Esmeralda may not always have been a mother to Morticia, but she had made up for that, and been a good one for almost twenty years now.

The second thing she did was gaze into her husband's eyes while he carried her up their old, dark, wooden stairs and through the gloomy, historic hallways and into their grand, gothic master bedroom. They didn't come out of that room for the rest of the day, until later that night, when they decided it was time for a visit to their dungeon.

The rest of that month passed in a blur. Meetings with Pugsley's probation officer, Wednesday's congratulations party for becoming Massachusetts' youngest cult leader, Máma trying new recipes left and right, Lurch and Thing writing a memoir about their week on vacation (they had gone on a cruise on the Dead Sea in late September, and madness had ensued, including but not limited to Thing's brief arrest)… and Gomez, with his gorgeous wife, leading it all, together. At last, their home was filled with macabre adoration, and it was beautiful.

Now, it was October 1st, and Gomez Addams could not imagine a better way to spend his birthday. He and his glorious family would be driving down to Wednesday and Pugsley's school, as they both were acting in Sherman Elementary's production of Macbeth.

Wednesday was ecstatic (although she showed zero emotion on her face) to find that she had received the role of first witch, and side-eyed her brother at his happiness at receiving the part of rock #1.

Gomez and Morticia were almost finished readying themselves in their dark bedroom, needing to begin the drive to their children's school in about an hour.

Morticia put her dangling, black diamond earrings in while she sat at her vanity that evening. She wore a long, black, gothic dress. It was tight and silky with long sleeves and low cut in a V-neck. There was a large cutout in each sleeve, with small fishnet and lace that had gothic designs embroidered in it, covering Morticia's porcelain skin. The lace also had a hole for her middle fingers to slip through. The dress swept the floor and she wore black, three-and-a-half inch high heels with it, as well as black thigh-highs with lace at the top (mainly for her husband later). She wore with the outfit, a black corset with velvet, black, swirled gothic designs covering it, with black diamond details strategically placed at the tops of the swirls. All she had to do was wait for Gomez to come in so he could help her tie it.

She had been waiting for a while now, however. This wasn't unusual, at least not lately. He had been acting rather odd, lately, suspicious. He was gone for two hours almost every day for the past two weeks, and never divulged where he was going, or he would make something up. Morticia could always tell when he was making something up.

Still, she trusted him and finished putting in her earrings. Then, she spotted her husband, staring at her through her vanity mirror.

Gomez wore a black, pinstriped suit with a black tie that had a grey octopus design on it with black dress shoes.

He put out the cigar he had been smoking. "You waited for me, querida?"

Morticia nodded. "Yes. I had to do this without you for a month. I'm not to excited about the prospect of having to do that again."

Gomez walked over to her and helped her up off of her stool. "Trust me, my dearest, you won't have to." He replied. Then, his eyes found their walk-in closet, which was more like an entire separate room in itself. He raised his eyebrow, in inquiry. "Closet?"

Morticia looped her arm through his. "Anywhere." She responded.

Gomez lead her through the entryway of their closet and they stopped in front of the back wall, which was a mirror.

She turned and Gomez kissed her neck while his fingers began to tie the corset with its black laces.

"Mmm…" Morticia moaned. "I don't care how much I say this, I've missed you."

"Tish," Gomez began. "I'm terribly sorry that I've been so busy lately." The corset began to tie down her back. "Not being able to have my full attention on you kills me."

"It's alright, mon cher." She replied, lost in his touch but present enough to comprehend his words and formulate her own. "I understand." That was a small lie. Morticia barely understood at all. But she would.

Once he saw Morticia look in the mirror, he looked into it with her. He stroked her silky hair and smirked. "Midnight Music should finish construction in a month or so, cara mia."

"Gomez, I have to ask you, why have- _what?_ " Morticia let his words register. Was he serious?

"I promised you I would have it built for you." Gomez replied and finished tying her corset, his arms tight around her.

Morticia's eyes widened. "You're serious?"

Gomez chuckled. "Have I ever lied to you?"

Morticia's face lit up. He was the only one who could make her do that. She turned in his arms and cupped his cheeks. "Oh, Gomez!" She kissed him, trying her best to contain her excitement. "You mean it?"

"It would be cruel if I didn't, mi amore." Gomez kissed her hand.

Morticia could barely formulate coherent sentences. She took a deep breath. "Is that what you've been doing these past two weeks?"

"Yes." He nodded. "I couldn't schedule any meetings with the lawyers or construction crew for the early morning or late at night. I wanted to watch you wake up and I'd be damned if I was pulled away from you at night."

Morticia's heart swelled. She adored him. "Thank you, darling!" She wrapped her arms around his neck. It was at times like this that Morticia wished her voice was more powerful so she could scream with excitement like she wanted to.

Gomez ran a hand through her hair. "After everything you did, querida, you deserve it."

Morticia tried to regulate her breathing. "What about you?" She asked, playing with his tie. "You sacrificed everything for me."

"Tish -and I say this with full honesty-," Gomez took her hand. "The only thing I need as a recompense for that, is to know that I've made you happy." He kissed it.

Morticia's heart melted into a puddle on the floor at his words. "You -and I say _this,_ with full honesty- are the _best thing_ that has ever happened and _will ever_ happen to me, mon cher."

"I love you, my oxygen." Gomez said.

 _"_ _Kiss me."_ Morticia responded.

Gomez did. Actually, he passionately captured her blood red lips, his strong hands pulling her against his chest and devouring her whole. Powerless against their emotions, the lovers took their make out session to the crimson, velvet, elegant couch in the middle of the clothing room.

Gomez ran his fingers through his darling one's hair, entranced by her bewitching beauty. "Eres divina…" He growled as he sucked her neck. He then leaned in and was soon on top of her.

"Oh, tu es divin, mon amour…" Morticia moaned.

Gomez fervently kissed her from her wrist to her arm and got to her lips, impassioned. He pulled her as close as he could, tongue in her mouth, desperately needing to elicit those beautiful moans from her throat. His lips never left her body as they moved from the cleavage that was exposed through her dress to her neck again, and back up as their session grew more heated than the sun, their passion being hotter than giant, blazing ball of fire in the sky.

The lovers noticed, not, the sound of their door opening, too enraptured with one another.

"Mother, father! We have to-" Wednesday stopped midsentence when she walked into her parents' closet and saw them on the couch, her father practically eating her mother alive. She groaned. " _Are you serious?_ We have to leave!"

"Hey, Wednesday? I was wondering if Lurch had my rock costume or-" Pugsley stopped when he saw what she did. He sighed. "I told you we shoulda knocked."

Wednesday rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Pugsley, _now._ "

"Sorry." Pugsley hung his head.

Gomez looked up first. "We'll be right there, children." He said, barely able to take his eyes off of his wife.

"Alright, we'll be waiting in the car." Pugsley smiled and walked out of the room.

Wednesday shook her head as she walked out of the closet. "Thank you for another disturbing image." She said, sarcastically, before she, too, exited the room.

Morticia smiled up at her husband, opening her eyes. "Later, my dearest."

Gomez winked at her in confirmation and helped her to her feet.

The weather was miserable, and the Addams' could not have been more pleased. The entire family eagerly awaited Wednesday's debut as first witch, and Pugsley's as first rock.

Esmeralda had been attempting to sell Roadkill on a stick for the past twelve minutes but it wasn't catching on for whatever reason.

Wednesday and Pugsley were backstage, readying themselves for the performance.

Lurch and Thing (whom were best friends since their memoir entitled, _Cyanide for the Soul_ ) had been purchasing cards for the children at the school store.

And, Gomez and his black angel had been all over each other (much to the dismay and/or discomfort of the other parents).

Now, the entire family sat in the middle row in the auditorium, anticipating the Addams children's performances.

Gomez turned to his wife, and squeezed the hand he held. "Our children…"

Morticia smiled. "To think… our passion created two homicidal little devils." She remarked, nostalgic.

Gomez kissed her hand.

As he did, Morticia could not help but notice the man sitting next to her. He seemed to be in his fifties, and had white stubble that was practically a beard. He had a stomach on him, and tan skin. He wore a clean, white shirt with blue jeans, brown boots and a spiffy, brown jacket. He wore a baseball cap. And his eye was brown, while the other was covered… by a black eyepatch.

Next to him, sat a woman. She was quite pretty, and appeared tall, around the same height as the man next to her. Her skin was on the paler side of fair, and she was skinny. Her eyes were icy blue, and her hair was jet black, in a curled bob. She looked to be about thirty-three. She wore a flowing, dark burgundy shirt with a black, long necklace. She wore black skinny jeans and black, heeled boots. Her nails were painted black and her lips were red. Her eye makeup was natural and her eyeliner was slight. Her eyes, however, her eyes looked as though they had been made of crystalline snowflakes, falling from a grey sky on a chilly, frostbitten morning of… December.

Morticia knew who he was at once, but before she could say anything, the show began.

It was marvelous. Wednesday knew every one of her lines, and terrified every person in the audience from newborn babies to elderly ladies; and Pugsley was a wonderful rock, intentionally tripping the lead male. Gomez and Morticia could not have been more pleased with their children.

When the show was over, Morticia linked arms with her husband and they walked out of Sherman Elementary with their children. However, she was saddened that she had not seen him… the man she once knew, once had a deep, judgeless conversation with. She had not seen the man she knew was Sal, and the woman she believed, was his daughter.

The family piled into the car, Morticia and her husband in the back seat, Lurch in the front with Thing on his shoulder, Wednesday on Esmeralda's lap, and Pugsley in the passenger seat.

Gomez had his arm around his wife, holding her close. "Bravo, children!" He clapped for his offspring.

Morticia did the same, her head, leaning on Gomez's shoulder, and her eyes, staring out the window.

Gomez smiled at her and reached into his pocket then, to pull out one of his expensive cigars. However, he found something else entirely.

A crumpled-up piece of parchment shoved itself into Gomez's hand. "Tish?" He looked at her, questioningly.

Morticia looked down at the paper. "Where did that come from?" She questioned.

"I haven't the slightest-" Gomez paused, seeing his wife's eyes drift toward the window, now staring, intently out of it again. "Tish?"

As Morticia looked out the window, she finally did spot Sal and December. They walked together, each holding one hand of a small child, around six or seven. He looked exactly like December… his mother.

Sal turned his head towards the window, and there he saw Morticia. Not breaking stride, he looked into her eyes, and winked at her.

Morticia could not help but smile. When he walked out of her view, and the car started up, she turned her attention back to Gomez. "Yes, darling?"

"Is everything alright?" Gomez inquired.

Morticia nodded, pressing closer to him and gazing into his dark eyes. "Qui, mon cher." She replied. "Everything, is perfect."

Gomez kissed her, then, and held up the paper. Slowly, he uncrumpled it. He made no sense of the chicken scratch writing on the paper, but his wife did.

Morticia's eyes read each of the four words carefully, in perfect understanding as she took the paper from her husband.

 _DON'T BE A STRANGER_

She flipped the paper over then, and on the back, was a phone number… Sal's phone number.

She had no idea how it was possible that he remembered, but the important thing was that he did, and he now wanted to be in the life of Morticia Addams.

Morticia tucked the paper into her dress, much to the confusion of her husband, now smoking his cigar.

Gomez raised an eyebrow.

"I'll explain later, mon diable." She replied.

Gomez nodded, in understanding and planted a tender kiss on her neck.

It was now late at night, and Gomez and Morticia had bid their family goodnight after the celebratory dinner of all the children's favourite foods, in honour of their play.

Now, the couple sat up in bed together; a few candles burned as light sources. The lovers had been drinking red wine for the past two hours now, and had just finished making love, and were heavily intoxicated, both by each other and their alcoholic beverages.

Gomez laughed, for apparently no reason.

Morticia's hand lie flat against his strong chest. "What's so humourous, darling?" She questioned.

Gomez let his nails run over her back. "What?" He asked, entranced and sipped his wine.

"I believe you've had a bit much too to drink." Morticia did not even realize how odd her statement sounded.

Gomez chuckled. "Mmm. Have I now?"

"Oui." Morticia replied. "And so have you."

Gomez rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek. "You're drunk."

"Drunk? _Me?_ " Morticia scoffed. "Please, darling. I am not nearly as think you drunk I am." That last bit just slipped out.

"Having trouble holding your alcohol, querida?" Gomez asked.

Morticia shook her head. "No. My alcohol happens to be weightless."

Gomez nodded, unable to take her seriously like this. "Of course, how foolish of me."

Lightening from the storm cracked across the sky, in full view of the couple from their uncovered window.

Morticia smiled, a sense of calm washing over her from the lightening. "Gomez… the sky just lit up." She sounded completely fascinated.

Gomez shook his head and took her drink, setting it on the table.

This did not go unnoticed by Morticia. "Why did you take my drunk?"

Gomez could not help but find her completely adorable. He rarely ever got to see his wife completely intoxicated, but when she was, she became… a lot different. "I think you've had enough _drunk,_ for one night, cara mia."

Morticia eyed her husband, dumbfounded. "Are you the drunk police?"

Gomez took all he could do not to bust out laughing. "No, Tish. But, if you see the drunk police, let me know. I have yet to come across those kinds of officers."

"I don't see a badge, darling, so I'm going to say that you're not." Morticia decided, pointing at him.

"Uh huh." Gomez set his drink down as well. "Good guess, Detective Addams."

Tired, Morticia snuggled up against him.

Gomez took her by the wrist. He was going to kiss her but Morticia looked completely dazed.

"Am I getting arrested?"

Gomez kissed her anyways and held her close. "No, my dearest, not as long as I'm here."

"You're not going anywhere, are you?" Morticia asked.

Gomez shook his head. "No, cara mia. Not ever."

"Good." Seeming satisfied by this, Morticia closed her eyes. "Hold me."

"For all eternity, mi hermosa diosa." He wrapped his arms around her, then, and stroked her hair, kissing her crimson lips or her snow-white neck while they watched the storm.

And, as Morticia drifted off to sleep, she could have sworn she heard her father's voice.

 _I told you he's a keeper._


	24. Hellraiser

"Good morning, cara mia." Gomez stroked his encantadora's cheek while she woke up.

"Ah, good morning, mon cher." Morticia responded, smiling.

"How was your night, my dearest?" Gomez inquired, using his other hand to bring hers to his lips.

"Wonderful." Morticia replied. "With you, it always is."

"Happy anniversary, mi corazón." Gomez situated her to sit in his lap when she fully awoke. He kissed her neck.

"I've been able to proudly call you mine now twenty years." Morticia looked out of their bedroom window. The crying sky was nothing but grey. "It's a miserable morning."

"I know, darling." Gomez responded.

"What time is it?" Morticia asked, adjusting herself, comfortably.

"Time for you to open your present." Gomez said, excitedly.

"I thought that lovely restaurant was my present?"

Gomez shook his head. "Tish, what kind of husband would I be if that was all I got you after twenty years of making me the happiest man in this world?"

Morticia put a hand atop his. "You wouldn't be the kind that you are."

Gomez grabbed two, black present bags off of the nightstand. "And what kind is that?" He asked, pushing Morticia's hair over her shoulder.

"The best." She replied.

"I promise, Tish, I never looked at mine. I requested Lurch bring these up." Gomez said.

"I believe you." Morticia took one of the bags. It had her initials painted on it, in crimson. "Thank you, mon amour."

"Alright, open yours first." Gomez prompted.

Morticia nodded, seeing as he seemed very excited about it. She then pulled a black card, decorated with ivory and written with white calligraphy. She kissed him. "It's beautiful."

Gomez began to read the writing over her shoulder. He cleared his throat. _"Happy Anniversary, cara mia."_

Morticia flipped open the card, and the bats in her heart fluttered at his words.

 _"_ _Two hearts."_ Gomez began to recite the poem he had written for her.

 _"_ _Two hearts, I believe, are destined to meet,_

 _And mine, was destined to find you._

 _It was nothing but an empty, useless filling in my chest,_

 _Until I laid eyes upon you._

 _"_ _Your beauty was enough,_

 _To give my heart a beat,_

 _Your soul was enough,_

 _To paint my transparent heart black,_

 _Your heart was enough,_

 _To give my own a purpose,_

 _A meaning,_

 _A reason._

 _"_ _A life can be meaningless,_

 _Filled with only a void,_

 _A life can be purposeful,_

 _Filled with just that… filling._

 _A life can be passionate,_

 _Filled with such an immense love,_

 _That the heart has no choice,_

 _But to relinquish itself to the one,_

 _It was destined to be made whole with."_

 _"_ _Gloomy is life,_

 _Macabre is death,_

 _Beauty is you,_

 _Your joy gives me breath._

 _"_ _Fortune is dull,_

 _Misfortune is doleful,_

 _My treasure is you,_

 _Filling my soul full."_

 _"_ _My angel of darkness,_

 _My goddess of night,_

 _My queen of enchantment,_

 _My bewitching light,_

 _Mi amore de mi vida,_

 _My only delight."_

 _"_ _I love you, my dearest,_

 _My life, you did save,_

 _In regards to my being,_

 _I am your slave._

 _My joy is your joy,_

 _I cry when you cry,_

 _For you, I would kill,_

 _For you, I would die._

 _You are my oxygen,_

 _Your love is my world,_

 _I could go on for eternity,_

 _Querida, I would._

 _I worship you,_

 _My bewitching light._

 _Happy anniversary,_

 _My goddess of night._

 _Two hearts, I believe, are destined to meet,_

 _And mine, was destined to find you."_

Gomez squeezed her waist as he read the rest of the card. _"You are my life, my death and my everything, cara mia. I meant every passionate syllable that I have ever spoken or written to you. I love you, Tish. Happy 20_ _th_ _anniversary, and I look forward to a lifetime of glorious years to come."_

Morticia turned her head to meet his eyes. "Gomez, that's beautiful."

"I wrote it for you the week we arrived home." Gomez explained.

"Oh, darling… I love it." Morticia replied. "I love _you,_ happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary, querida." Gomez kissed her. "There's more."

"Gomez, I couldn't possibly ask for anything more."

"And you don't have to ask." Gomez said and sat his chin on her shoulder. "Now, open the rest of your present."

Morticia then opened the bag to reveal an enchanting, twenty million-dollar ring. It was black with a rose design entirely made of rubies. Raised, black diamond bat wings came off of the rose. Engraved on the inside of the ring was Tish, the first nickname that Gomez had ever called her.

Gomez slipped it onto her finger, a perfect fit. "Do you like it, cara mia?"

"Oh, Gomez, I adore it." Morticia stared at it. It was enchanting. "Where did you find it?"

"I didn't." Gomez said and kissed her shoulder. "I had it made."

"You had this made?"

"Yes. Although no ring could ever be as enthralling as you are, Tish… I wanted something for you that would be at least half as beautiful." Gomez explained.

"Gomez, this is… what did I do to deserve this?" Morticia asked.

"Easy, you've been and forever will be my greatest and only true passion, mi amore." Gomez replied.

"Thank you, mon cher. I adore it."

"Good, because there's one more thing." Gomez said.

Morticia shook her head. "You spoil me, darling."

"And I will continue to, until the day I die." Gomez told her. "And even after." He said. "I will be bringing you blood sacrifices when we're ghosts, mi reina."

"Gomez, that's so romantic." Morticia remarked as she reached into the bag. She handed it to Gomez and he set in on the table. When she realized what was in her pale, delicate hands, all she could do was smile. "Tickets to a cruise on the Black Sea."

"It's been too long since I've taken you on a cruise, mi encantadora." Gomez explained. "We leave in two weeks."

"Thank you, darling. For everything." Morticia kissed him, then gracefully gestured toward his present.

Gomez pulled a note out of the bag. "Do I read this first?" He asked.

"No." Morticia said. "I do."

Gomez kissed her neck.

Morticia then began to read her note/card. _"Happy Anniversary, Mon Amour. You are everything to me. Without you, I would be nothing but a puddle on the ground. Quite ironic, actually, considering that that is what you reduce me to. All you have to do to make me weak is look at me, mon diable, and I'm gone. You tell me often that I saved you, and I believe you. But believe me when I tell you that you saved me. You saved me from a life of loneliness, and hurt. And on more than one occasion, you saved me from she who shall not be named."_

Gomez grimaced at the mention of Ophelia.

Morticia continued. _"But I want you to know that I would not want to, nor could I ever, live without you, Gomez. Losing you would mean losing everything. And no, I am not a better person than you are. You, my darling, are strong and charming and caring, and passionate. That passion, that is one of the first things I was attracted to when we met. That passion… and your laugh. I love you, Gomez, with everything I have. I appreciate every single thing about you and the way you treat me. But know that you, yourself is what makes me happy, mon cher. Thank you, for being_ _my_ _saving grace._

 _-Je t'aime, Tish."_

Gomez gently took her chin in his hand and turned her head to face him. "Cara mia, that was beautiful."

"It was true."

Gomez kissed her. "Thank you, my darling."

Morticia smiled. "Open the rest of your present."

Gomez then opened the rest of it, and set the bag on the nightstand. He was happily astonished at what he found. It was a beautifully crafted, black cigar holder, encrusted with rubies and black diamonds. Going along the side, in elegant crimson font was Gomez's nickname, _Mon Diable_.

He grinned. "You, my dearest, have outdone yourself. This is the second-best anniversary gift I have ever received."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "What was the first?"

"Your happiness." Gomez kissed her.

"Je t'aime, mon cher." Morticia purred.

"Eres divina…" Gomez leaned in.

"Mon sauvage…" Morticia cupped his cheeks, turning in his arms.

One arm squeezed her waist while the other rested on her back and pulled her closer, going deeper into their shared kiss.

He ran his fingers through her hair and as things progressed, she was under him. As his lips, warm and passionate left a trail down her body, all the lovers could concentrate on was one another. That was it. They were very fortunate that Lurch and Thing were making themselves scarce today, and Esmeralda was taking the children out to her Witches Anonymous meeting for most of the day. They had the house to themselves.

At this realization, they finished their lovemaking session within a couple of hours, and spent the day the way that wished they could have when Sensus Inversus fell upon them.

The radio blaring in the wonderfully gloomy living room, their eccentrically macabre furniture pushed out, leaving the large room spacious enough so that they could dance. And they did. They danced, in their best clothes, even though they weren't going anywhere. They danced for hours.

Showering his wife in affection, Gomez twirled about the room with her all day, holding her in his strong arms, never to let her go. He kissed her up her arm, and devoured her neck, rocked her back and forth and waltzed by the fire on that cold, stormy day on October 13th like it was his job.

Morticia twirled in her husband's arms and gazed into his dark eyes. "Tu es tout pour moi, mon amour." She said, softly.

"Y tu eres mio, mi hermosa diosa." Gomez replied and kissed her hand.

Ring.

Morticia sighed. "I'll get it, darling." Still in her husband's arm, she took the phone off of the mantle and answered. "Hello? Addams residence. Mrs. Addams speaking."

 _"_ _Morticia, dear, hello. I know we said and did some things I know I regret. Umm, I understand that we haven't talked in a while but if I could just have a moment of your time, I- "_ Ophelia was cut off. She had been living in a cold, cramped attic for the past month. When she finally did get out of that basement, she ended up having to take a job as a scullery maid in a convent full of nuns. Religious, angry nuns.

"Pardon me, who is this?" Morticia questioned.

"It's, it's Ophelia." Ophelia took a deep breath. "But as I was saying, if I could just-" She heard no background noise. _"Hello?"_ Ophelia then began to perspire, panicking. _"Hello? Morticia?"_ Ophelia paused, then. It was then, that she finally realized her sister had disconnected… for good. "Oh, god."

Morticia hung up on her, and Gomez had chucked the phone to the side, having heard the conversation.

 _"_ _How dare she-"_

Morticia put a delicate finger to her husband's lips. "I refuse to let this ruin our day. That, _that_ would be letting her win. Now," She wrapped her arm arms around Gomez's neck. "Dance with me."

So, he did. Whatever he was about to do was forgotten, and they danced well into the night.

Gomez had made his black angel dinner that night, and now, it was quite late. Morticia lied in his arms on the couch, while Gomez sat and showered her in affection during the last activity of the night. They were watching their favourite movie, Hellraiser.

Gomez bit down on her neck.

"Mmm…" Morticia moaned. "Do it again."

He did, and drew blood. No scream, no matter how shrill, could send chills down Morticia's spine like Gomez could.

Sensing that she was becoming tired, Gomez put one of the more comfortable pillows behind her and rubbed her shoulders, still not through with her neck.

"Happy Anniversary, mon beau diable." Morticia yawned.

Gomez kissed her. "Happy anniversary, mi amore de mi vida."

Morticia then began to drift off, and Gomez was reminded of another reason why he loved that woman. She could fall asleep during Hellraiser.

He kissed her goodnight, then, not stopping quite yet, and using one hand to pull up the warm, black blanket so she wouldn't get cold.

Then, when he sensed she was asleep, he wrapped his arms around her, protectively… just as the credits rolled.

So yes, yes Ophelia Frump had tried to steal Gomez away from her, but unsuccessful was she. Nothing in the history of everything, could ever truly tear Gomez away from his only.

Morticia slept, finally, safe and comfortable on that couch, because she was in the arms of her beloved. Her beloved, who could turn anything from a mattress into a bed. The love he had for her was everything he had, and their love for each other was everything that they shared. That, and their devotion to the family they swore to get back… and they did.

Morticia laid there, sleeping like an impassioned corpse… lying, safe and vulnerable, in her beautiful, amorous bed of dead roses.


End file.
